


Bittersweet

by JuJuwana



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cliffhangers, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark Character, Dark Jareth, Dark Sarah, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Sad Ending, Unresolved, part one, possible happy ending, posted in entirety, twisted feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 16:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuJuwana/pseuds/JuJuwana
Summary: Sarah receives a wedding invitation. Jareth is getting married..and it's not to her.





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> Posting in its entirety.

Bittersweet

 

A/N: I do not own the Labyrinth. I don’t make any money from this story. Original characters belong to me.

 

Chapter One---

 

It looked like a wedding invitation.

Sarah turned the heavy cream vellum in her palms. Intricate calligraphy in cursive font decorated the front, her name—Sarah Patrick—embossed in the middle of the stationary. She didn’t know any of her friends or family that were currently engaged.

Strange.

She tucked her finger under the seal and removed another envelope, this one of the richest cobalt blue. Gold lettering swirled, pleasing to the eye. She slipped the invitation from the inside, the letterhead’s words striking her still and pale.

We cordially invite Sarah Williams-Patrick of the Above, Champion of His Majesty’s Labyrinth, to the wedding of Jareth, King of Goblins, and Ain, Lady of Merr. Please--

She dropped the letter. Stunned. Cold. It lay fluttered at her feet like a declaration of war. Which...perhaps it was. She hadn’t spoken or seen the king in over twenty-five years.

Why now?

She shook her head, inciting her shaky limbs into a semblance of normalcy. Why not, she reasoned. It wasn’t like she had any hold on the Goblin King. She had been a dreamer at fifteen, but realism had geared into practicality, erasing the girl she used to be. The girl that wanted the blond haired seducer with every fiber of her being. She bit back a scoff, stooping to retrieve the invitation. She flicked it within her fingers.

The date, less than three days away. She firmed her lips. Just like his Majesty. Leaving her little time to debate. He was a deceiver, a roue, and it was clear he would always be one. What did he think an invite would do to her—make her quake with fear or tremble with ecstasies that he had chosen her to come?

She wouldn’t go. Serve him right, when after all those years of pleading, he hadn’t given in to her childish whim of seeing him again. Go? Absolutely not. She hated him. No—even better, she felt nothing.

A card fell out from the envelope. Small, with the name of a local boutique.

All your needs will be met. Your dress has been personally designed, according to specifications. Transport has been arranged. To go Underground—the directions were spelled out. One word: Return.

Formal. Leaving little to chance, and giving her further reason to refuse. How dare he? How dare! She was an emancipated woman, with disposable income and a nice home in the Catskills. How dare Jareth assume she would drop everything at his very whim and come running.

She knew a glower tuckered into her brow. But perhaps…

It would show him right if she did show up. The Champion. No—Sarah Patrick, lawyer of elder law and children’s rights, would show him who he was messing with by his haughty decree. She glared, even as a tear threatened to fall.

How dare he?

Harrigans, the upscale shop catering to customized and one of a kind formal wear, had never been her style. Too feminine, when she needed to play the game of machismo with the big boys. She preferred tailored suits that hid her slender body and looked more like menswear. A small part of her yearned for glamour and glitz. To be beautiful. To be desired.

Well, she hadn’t felt like that in a very long time. Things always took a backseat. Her career. Her son, now aged twenty. Even her ex-husband, who had demanded she work a full time job and then come home to cater to him.

Would it really hurt to go? Yes, she hissed, cursing her errant thoughts. But maybe…

The card bent as her fingers moved to crush it. She would go, damn him. Damn the Goblin King for making her feel weak, less than, needy. Grabbing her cell phone, she dialed the extension for the boutique before she could change her mind.

The dress waited. She only had to pick it up. And according to the woman on the phone, hair and makeup had been set up for her as well. In for a penny, in for a pound…

Three days. It couldn’t come and end soon enough.

*****

Butterflies targeted her stomach. Sarah hadn’t been so nervous since her first big trial. She rubbed her fingers along her bare leg, teasing the skin underneath. She had regressed to a mere child again, waking upon nightmare to a flurry of want and anticipation. Waking to dream, craving the necessary purge of the male that tortured her sleep. Her craving. Her desire.

The day would soon be over. She just had to get through it one moment at a time. One single, long, drawn out moment. She peered up at the clock, tick, ticking.

She still had to mouth the word. A smile hovered. It was like old times, except she was fully aware of what she was doing. It wasn’t too late to back out--

“Ma’am,” said the youthful sales consultant. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” Sarah gave a wan smile. She would be. If she could muster courage and just do it already. Voices were whispers in the posh setting. If she hadn’t indigestion, she would have appreciated the location more.

“You look lovely.”

The girl hovered for a moment longer as Sarah murmured thanks, fiddling with a strand of hair that had slipped from the gold pins in Sarah’s dark hair. It lay across her shoulders, down her back, straight but lush. She was glad she hadn’t had to cut it. Her hair was her vanity, and she openly knew it.

Beautiful? Yes, that was the problem. She wanted to look exquisite. She also wanted to be horridly done. It was too late for that; she was primped and styled, never looking better. Not even on her own wedding day had she shined with such radiant appeal. So damn her too, for giving into the moment’s pleasure.

Her nerves struck at her. She looked like a woman ready to meet a lover. Ready to conquer the world. But it was not her wedding day; no. She had to face the woman that would be the wife of the very male that had targeted her fantasies for so many years.

The gown hung in rich dark satin wave, a call of blue-black night, beaded across the back as it slung to her waist. The front had a modern twist, covering her to the collarbone and leaving her arms bare, only small spaghetti straps of gold holding her in, the corset boning of the bodice giving her slim body a svelte line over the lace panty set that barely covered her. The dress looked rich. It looked seductive. She had never felt better about her looks, double damn her for it all.

Just do it already. She wiped her hands discreetly on her bare right leg, newly shaved and lotioned. The slit of the gown came almost to her thigh crease. Heels of burnished gilt caressed her feet, criss-crossing along her ankle and toes.

Do it!

Sarah drew a breath, all alone in the sitting area. Better now than never; she said the single incantation, giving her passageway to the Underground. She closed her eyes, waiting.

Return…

*****

 

 

Chapter Two

Her head spun like a tornado, but as Sarah opened her eyes she knew she was there. Underground. And in a library, of all places. When her head cleared, she took the time to look around.

Books, floor to ceiling, wall to wall. The ceiling hung at least forty feet above her, with a mural of stars and flying creatures painted on in rich swathe. Flying goblins. She snorted. It seemed the king had a sense of humor.

She stroked the books laying nearest her on a mahogany table. It gleamed, as did all the furniture in the room. Tables, hooded lamps, thick chairs in deepest blue, they all surrounded her. She felt at home; the feeling made her frown.

She wasn’t alone. The instinct pressed her, and she knew. He was there, behind her, watching her every motion.

“You seem to have lost your way. The guest rooms are down the left hallway.”

A smooth baritone, warm like amber liquor coating the throat, came from behind her. She knew, she knew. It was the Goblin King. She flushed from neck to breast, a pant rising deep from her. Fear, lust, anticipation. It hovered so near the surface, it screamed to be let out. She took a deep breath, turned.

He sucked in an inhale, but other than that, the king gave no indication she had affected him. His eyes. Stormy, nearly black. His pupils dilated, his brow furrowed. Yes, he recognized her, too. Silence. Nothing came from his lips. Then, a smirk, one she comprehended like an animal in prey.

“Well, well, what have we here? The Champion, returned.” He grinned, a slow smoky haunt. “Hello, Sarah.”

She gave strength to her voice. “Hello.” She was glad to realize it didn’t quiver.

He moved forward, his steps light. Predatory. His eyes raked her, from toe to hair and back again. Just once. It was enough. She shivered.

“You are to be married.” She rebounded his unspoken parlay. Hunt or be hunted. Refuse or die.

The words dashed like cold ice in the face, pausing him in his tracks. Unwanted. Truth exposing. His eyes flickered.

“Yes.”

Still he stalked, and Sarah wanted to run, run, run away. She didn’t budge; maybe her legs weren’t working. Her lips moved, a barb ready to strike and poison. But the retort never came.

He stood in front of her, lean and hungry and intensified. A storm brewing. A jungle cat ready to pounce, just as she remembered him. She tilted her chin up, just slightly. He moved, so fast that she never saw the blur. And he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back, tongue and teeth and pain. A mating of lips, a joining of soul.

Despite the pleasure, she held a hand up to him, pressing his chest. Pressing him away.

“No. This isn’t right.”

He shadowed. Took a step back, examined her. He looked more ferocious than he had moments before, a scary thing. Fear? Yes, she felt it, in the pause.

His voice snapped, a fiery crackle. “Why are you here?” he asked, a careful inquiry. She hadn’t stopped his advance, only halted it momentarily.

“I was invited.”

He circled her. “Were you now?”

She nodded, motioning to take out the invite. He waved the disjointed intention away.

“Never mind. It’s not necessary.” His hand came up, stroked her arm, her bare flesh. He incanted, a grim refusal. “You are here to haunt me.”

“It’s been twenty-five years, Jareth.” His eyes flashed as she spoke his name. A mistake, but she pressed on. “You demanded, so I came.”

Air hissed from his lips. “I demanded?” His stature tightened. “No. I haven’t the power.” He made the word a curse.

It hit her like stone. He hadn’t wanted her there. Her hurt sunk deep. But she had trained for rejection; she knew how to brace up and continue. So continue she did.

“Nevertheless,” she said. “I am here.”

He glowed with indignation. “Yes. You are here.” His body embraced her space. She refused to budge, though her heart quivered. “Now what might I do with an intruder such as you?” Sulky malcontent hushed with desire, a pleading of tone.

She wouldn’t take the bait. Her gaze leveled him in the eye. He continued as if she hadn’t refused his questioning.

“Chains?” He smiled, a taste of teeth and icy satisfaction. “No. Perhaps you would like that.”

“You would like that.” She snapped at him, not thinking.

He crushed her words to him. “Yes. I think I would. My little slave.” He purred. His fingers ran up and down her arm. “All dressed up to please.”

“I am not dressed for you.”

“No?” He mocked. “Then why does your dress have the branding of the Underground in its very fabric?” She flinched and he chuckled, a dark persuasion. “You didn’t know?”

“No.”

His head tipped down; he made ready to kiss her again. “I find that very hard to believe.”

She stepped back, away from his touch, away from the desire that pounded her. “All right,” she said, snapping. “Then you tell me why I am here in your castle, dressed in something that was custom done for your wedding.”

He sighed, sticking a hand into the pocket of trousers that fit him, snug and deliriously taut. He looked glorious. He looked like the devil himself, strutted to devour.

“I don’t know.” He ran his palm through hair that was short, cropped to his ears and jagged across his neck. Easy to tangle her fingers in. Easy to pull and capture him.

She murmured. “You cut your hair.”

He flushed, a look contrary and uncertain. “Ain wanted it. She said it tickled her face when we--” He stopped, the words a staccato bliss.

Sarah knew. “You mean in bed.” She didn’t know why the imagery hurt. He had every right to sleep with whomever. Especially his fiance.

He nodded, his face bright as it hungered over her. She back up further. “This is wrong.”

A flare came over him, brilliant and tortured and deep. “Wrong?” He scoffed. “No, my dear. What is wrong is that you think to come to me, unbidden, and then take yourself away as if we--”

Her chin tipped. “We? There is no we.”

“No.” He mused. “But there could be.”

She shook her head in refusal. “You are ready to be wed.” She looked at the clock nearest him. “In one hour, no less.” She turned to the side, ready to run. “I should go.”

Panic shrouded his eyes. A flash. Tortured want, then masked in the instant. He grabbed her forearm, bracing her. Halting her motion.

“I think not.” His mouth tingled her ear. “You are my guest. I beg you to stay.”

Her stomach quivered in flight at his sultry plea. She wanted to stay. She wanted him to beg. She wanted--

His mouth brushed hers, whisper soft. A barest caress. “You want this. You want me.”

She didn’t deny it. But she had boundaries, and fucking the Goblin King while he had a fiance ready and waiting wasn’t in her. She shook her head.

“I will see you married.”

He growled. “You will see me in Hell!” He pressed his lean body to hers, a bracing of want and need. “Sarah.” He intoned, heady desire in his voice. “Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me and I will let you go.” He glowered. “Again.”

She couldn’t speak, the refusal never leaving her. Her eyes begged. At her silence he moaned in torturous glee, a cacophony that pealed like death drums. He brought her flush to him. Toe to toe, lean muscle to rounded breast. His lips pressed back into a grin. Dangerous and devouring.

“I thought not.” His mouth whispered over her skin, her neck a target. A giddy mark for his lips. She arched her back, her skin exposed to his wandering touch. Her body willing, even as her mind fought.

“Jareth...”

His name escaped her. He caught it within his lips. Careful at first, then escalating to deep dives of mocking thrust, a parody of baited desire.

“Tell me you want me.” His fingers hushed her skin. “Tell me.”

Her voice shook. “I want--”

It was all the answer he looked for, the acquiescence he craved. She knew. She gave. She cowered before him, a tangible force that lit and fired within her.

“Sarah.” Sorry greed, unrepentant.

Then her dress was lifted. Rough, insistent, her thighs clutched around his waist with instinctive curl as he pushed her willing body frantically against a waiting table. His mouth tortured her. She responded, tongue to tongue, a hot flare deepening and weakening her. He tugged her lace panties from her body, a groan escaping him as he ran hungry fingers over her core. Flicking, thrusting, insisting. Her refusal wavered, hissed like a smoky plume in the sky.

Maybe it was never there.

She came, quick, voluminously, in his hand. Her body shook in pleasure. He nipped at her skin with sharp teeth, a moan escaping his lips as she gave and gave and gave. His breath, tantalizing on her flesh, panted as he milked her.

“My Sarah.” Possessive. Driving her lust. Echoing his own.

“I want you--” she said, her words a throaty hull.

“Yes!” It was all the encouragement he needed to continue, to press further, to linger deep. She wanted all of him; he begged all of her.

He moved aside in a bated pause, adjusting and releasing the clasp of his trousers, and then they were gone. She tickled tumultuous at the removal of his hot caress, yearning him to return. She clutched at him, his pale, pale skin, exposed and vulnerable. More than she ever dreamed for. More than she ever knew she needed.

He thrust and entered in plunging haste, her insides pulsing around him as he pressed into her flesh. Foreplay bidden years in advance, made each tremble, made each refuse the tribulation. He was in her, delicious pistoning, his lean hips a brace for her palms. Over and over and over he thrust. Sweat glistened along his skin. She felt. She felt. He swelled in her, his motions growing erratic as her heart beat in staccato time. She knew he was close, and she drove him harder, her orgasm a hint away.

Never, never had she experienced bliss such as this. Never. And he came in pulsing burst, her flesh spasming around him, even as she knew it would be the last they had. Suck it and bleed it dry. She drew him out, made all of his juices surrender inside her.

His forehead touched hers, gleaning with sweat. She inhaled his scent. Tart and smoky and hers, if only for a moment longer. Their breath slowed, their skin losing the dewy glow of lust.

She leaned back, unhooking him. He examined her, watchful.

“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. “I must go.” An intention that ripped from her, that made her weak. Made her childlike in vulnerable obey.

He fastened himself, straightening her also. Still, so still, his gaze.

“No,” he said, his justice meted. “You are going nowhere.”

His eyes flashed. Sarah looked with pain, his words a promise. “You are mine now.”

Chapter Three

She lifted her head to rebel. “You’re wrong. I am not yours.” She paused. “This was a mistake.”

He rammed his fist into the table at her side, making her flinch. In spite of that, she didn’t fear him in his anger. His rage justified. They were reprehensible, dawning with deceit. Giving a mockery of absolution to the other, even while they begged the erroneous action continue.

“No mistake,” he said, his words harsh and taut with fury and pain. “You wanted me. I want you still. We...we are meant to be.” Silky. Plausible.

“No.”

He frowned. But mixed in she saw frustration. Rage. Indignity that she refused him.

She softened her tone, pleading. Pleading for sanity and reason, if only for her own sake. “You are engaged. You will marry the woman you chose, and I...” She looked at the ground. “I am going home.”

He bit graveled words. “You are home.”

“My home is not here. I am happy with my life. And this--”

“This...separation.” He prowled, his eyes fire bright. “Is justification for our pent desires, hmm?” His jaw clenched. “I understand, of course. I am the man you crave to hate. But, you see, I am just a man. And I--”

“Don’t!” She held up a trembling palm. “Please. Don’t.” Hearing him speak would condemn them both, and she didn’t know if she could take the fall alone for their treachery.

His eyes dimmed. Just a flash of malcontent and then...gone. His head bowed and his fists clenched and unclenched.

“Sarah.” He looked at her. Really looked, as if he saw clear through her to her core. “You’re beautiful, you know.” Resigned.

She couldn’t answer. If she spoke, the tears would fall. Damn her. More to the point, damn them.

She whispered. She didn’t really want to know. “Will you tell her?”

About them...

He nodded. “Yes.” His jaw gave a tic.

She sucked in a deep breath. “It is best.”

He pained. “You don’t understand. How can you?” He shook his head. “Ain has been my companion for over eight years. She deserves--”

“Of course she does.” Quick. Brilliant. Lying to the depth of her unconscionable soul.

She would have given anything to hear him speak so fondly of her. But love and lust were two polar halves of the animal that lurked within. Sarah bowed her head, briefly mourning that which could not be.

It hurt to know he had moved on. But then again, so had she. Moved on, married, had a child. She had no right to want him to be celibate, to be alone. But she did want. She wished he had pined over her as she had spent so many years pining over him. Youth, it was a folly. As adults, they pushed the line into destruction.

His jaw slanted. He knew. A smirk lined his face. But the expression dimmed and flickered. Doubt, worry. It carried into the frame of his lithe body.

He turned his back to her, towards the door, as he summoned a crystal. A large goblin entered. Jareth whispered in the creature’s ear, and the warrior beast nodded, looking at Sarah only once. Dim recognition marked its features, then was lost in the ugliness of its visage.

The goblin left. Jareth turned back to her and she asked, “Why did that goblin recognize me?”

He shrugged. “You are the Champion. All in the kingdom know of you.” He wouldn’t expand his reasoning, so she left the comment as is.

He leaned against the table they had just fucked on, their conjoined scent lingering in the air. His arms crossed as he stared at her, wordless. Sarah flushed. She said, disappointment in her voice that she couldn’t mask, “You needn’t stay with me. You have a wedding to attend.”

His jaw gave another tic. “You are very eager I marry.”

She tried practicality. “My being here shouldn’t change anything.”

He leaned away from the table, coming to stand in her space, devouring without touch. Tempting without a word.

She shifted away. Only then did he back up. “It changes everything, Sarah. Don’t deceive yourself into thinking it wouldn’t.”

“More the reason why I should be gone from here.”

“I won’t allow you to leave.”

“You won’t allow--” She burst with fire and fury. “Who are you to tell me? I don’t live under your kingship.”

“You came here willingly. Leaving is an impossibility.”

“Why?” she said, her voice tight.

“Do you really want an answer for that?” Smug. She opened her mouth to complain, halted.

The door to the library opened. An auburn haired woman entered, beautiful, graceful, her easy presence announcing her comfort in joining the king. No fear of reprisal, just a warm greeting and tender eyes as they rested upon him. Jareth smiled and held out his palm to her.

“Ain.”

“My love,” the woman said. “Is something wrong? I heard the wedding was postponed.” She stopped, looking at Sarah. “Oh.” Her word said a wealth.

The woman moved forward, a perfection of womanhood. Jareth’s bride to be. Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “The Champion. Of course you would come. How foolish of me for not thinking of it.”

“Sarah will be our guest, my dear,” Jareth said. Sarah inwardly choked at the endearment. He cared for the woman. How could he not? She was the epitome of loveliness.

“Welcome to our home.” Ain grabbed Sarah’s hand in her own, squeezing lightly. Warmly.

Their home. Sarah frowned. She was the intruder, worse than the low.

“I was leaving. I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said, even as Jareth glared at her.

He took Sarah’s upper arm. She couldn’t budge. “She was not leaving. I have made preparations for her to have a place to sleep.”

“Of course,” Ain said, a hint of question in her voice. The wedding, postponed without warning, and coinciding with Sarah’s arrival. The air should have been cloudy with tension; the Lady of Merr gave no indication of despise, however. Her tone remained friendly, welcoming.

Sarah was the invader, the culprit of woe. She blushed, feeling abject for her reckless behavior. Jareth wore a practiced smirk, mixed with a hint of frown. He worried also, it seemed, despite the lax facial and physical expressions that mocked the jaded scenario.

He leaned casually against the evidence, the mahogany table. He met Sarah’s eyes...and winked.

The ass.

Jareth peered at the women, one after the other, settling his gaze on Ain. “Understandably this has opened avenues that I can’t change, my dear,” he said.

The woman nodded, a limited grasp of the king’s knowledge flooding the depths of her eyes. No one swayed the king; once his mind set, it turned to law. Sarah refused to bow under his mighty thumb.

“I’m not sure--” she said.

Furious as she looked at him. Jareth made their lust a sham, though it blossomed as all it could be; over and gone without a true standing. Never to grow. Never to become more. Jareth looked over to Sarah at her outburst, his fingers still joined with his fiance’s. Her shame compounded. Ain seemed kind; Sarah had become the monster. And Jareth appeared the devil himself for his mild complacency.

He said, his eyes bright as they looked upon her. “You wouldn’t understand. But you will.” His entwined fingers released from its bind. He raised one perfect eyebrow. Smiled, a naughty boyishness, when he was anything but a boy. He shifted his palm as he brought another crystal into his hand, gazing into it, summoning. The goblin entered again.

“Take the Champion to the room designated for her.”

He turned back to his fiance, placed an arm around her shoulders. Reassuring. They murmured to the other, unheard by any other in the room.

Sarah set her back straight. She would go. To the room, or to hell. Maybe both.

Jareth dismissed Sarah, the fight already gone out of her. She didn’t truly want to go; seeing Jareth again had made it very real to her. She loved him. Perhaps she always had. Leaving would mean giving him up for good, and she was selfish enough not to want to release him.

She ruined a wedding. She would ruin more, if given the opportunity. Jareth demanded she stay; she would make it worthwhile. Even if it meant destroying every shred of decency within her.

*****

Chapter Four

 

 

The goblin wouldn’t speak to her.

Down hallways, around corners laden with tables on which flowers adorned, Sarah’s awareness that a woman lived in the castle, made her lurch inside. The stone structure had been meticulously cleaned, the passageways littered with paintings and elaborate artwork, all in attempt to feminize the building. Jareth had lived in squalor. Ain’s presence changed that; possibly she had changed him as well.

That scared Sarah more than the fact he had kept a companion. She liked the old Jareth, the one that blustered and frowned and threatened and persuaded. If he had changed, she wanted no part of what he had become. Sarah frowned, rueful. He didn’t seem so different; he propositioned her as he had before. Only now she was a woman grown and not a naive youth. If she gave in now, she did it of her own initiative.

Jareth and Ain. The image made her sick. His fiance appeared kind. Surely her attentions had made Jareth happy, for he had arranged to marry her. Jealousy bit and clawed inside the depths of her. When she left, they would marry, and Sarah would still be alone. She hadn’t won anything at all.

She smiled at the dark creature leading her through meandering hallway. He had to know something, anything, about his king. He grunted, as if her sly attempts couldn’t sway a creature such as him.

“The castle is different,” she said, deceitfully careful with her speech.

Grunt. Silence.

“The flowers are a nice touch.” Even if the mingling scents gave her a migraine.

Grunt. More silence.

Sarah fumed. How was she to gain information if no one would speak?

“Look,” she said, her tone pert. “I know that my being here is sudden--”

The goblin halted, making Sarah ram into him. He turned, his face a mask.

“You are the Champion,” he said. “You have no need for worries.”

“I’m not worried.” A lie. She fidgeted with her gown, not looking at the ugly warrior.

He grunted and resumed walking. She followed, his words making her question her sanity. Worry? She was covered with the emotion, quicksilver in the mold, shaping and forming her thoughts in erratic pattern. She had to worry, for her presence in the Goblin Kingdom had no future. For that she mourned. She wanted another taste of Jareth. One more quick devour, and then she could go, replete and honest with herself.

The goblin warrior stopped before an entrance. Plain, unassuming double doors that led into the innards of the castle. Her room, commanded by the king. She paused.

“Your room, Champion.”

The door swung open and she entered, cautious. Her timidity came from apprehensions of her last time in the castle, embraced by the Escher room. Emboldened by Jareth’s last words, only to fall flat when they revealed nothing to her. Jareth wouldn’t be forthcoming; he was king, and Sarah the pawn in his pretty game.

The door shut behind her, sealed with a force she recognized. She felt simultaneous joy and a scream want to burst from her. Now she couldn’t go. Now she was powerless. Giving into Jareth’s whim felt glorious. She basked in his decree. A room, but so much more. An invitation to stay.

The room, darkened by heavy curtains, burst with light as she stepped within. Fire lit from the massive fireplace, the wood giving crackle and pop. Sconces on the wall dimmed in halo as she walked around, touching the bed covers and the thick bedpost. Mahogany. Someone had exquisite, rich taste. The covers were black velvet, the pillows clustered on the bed, puffed and purest white. Sleep would come easy with such comfort.

She lifted her gown to the side as she climbed onto the edge of the bed. Her legs crossed and she leaned back, swinging her arms wide as she lay on the feather ticking; so soft. Her eyes closed, and she smiled. A hum filtered the air, but she didn’t move or open her eyes. Magic lingered throughout the castle; she had expected to feel vestiges of it, though to have it so near made her blink with pause. The voice near her ear made her jump into readiness, giving a small squeal of surprise. He came; she wanted it. She hoped for it...wished for it.

“How I enjoy looking at you basking on my bed.” Warm silk, encasing her, making her heart staccato in response.

“Jareth.” A filmy breath. A pant. She tried to leave, but his hand braced her.

“No. I like having you at my mercy.” Whimsical heat.

“What are you doing, Goblin King?”

He smiled, a half quirk of his lips. His glorious lips.

“Keeping you,” he said, touching the shell of her ear with his mouth.

She broke free. “This is your room?”

He grinned. “Of course, my dear Sarah. Did you expect me to put my Champion far away from me?”

“My own bed would have been nice.” His smile grew rapacious at her chicanery.

“Tsk, tsk,” he said, a sultry coo. “You lie horribly, my sweet.” Fingers stroked her skin, the leg nearest him administrated with his fiery touch. He leaned in, his mouth hovering over hers.

“Tell me again how you wish for your own room. I might be obligated to obey.”

She pouted. “You are so full of shit, Jareth. You would never bow under to anyone’s command.”

He leaned back, chuckling. “I bow under yours, and gladly.” He gave allegiance to her, but she knew it to be false. He played to win; he toyed with her, and she was letting him. He continued, his ministrations intense. “I want us, intimately, on the same page—my kingship, your acquiescence, my dear Champion. Wouldn’t that make things so much nicer for us both?”

She gasped as he ran a palm along her side, whispering coy near her breast. Instigating, perusing her answer. He moved, a warrior stealth. The side of the bed dipped as he lounged beside her. “Ah,” he said, “This is exceedingly nice of you to share.” The words lush, promising with insinuation.

“Share?” Sarah sat up, slid off the bed to glare at him, her arms crossed in anger. “How dare you? You have abandoned your bride and shame us both by putting me in here with you. What are you thinking, Goblin King?”

“Shame...” Jareth’s voice hardened, his tone making her shiver. Her demand, his conquest. “I feel no shame.” He stretched leonine, analyzing her with narrowed eyes.

“That is obvious.”

“And neither should you feel any shame or guilt, my sweet.” He removed from the bed, coming to stand before her, a weighty presence of muscle and magic. He crowded in, his scent musky and warm. “You have desires, the same as I do.” Practical. Dismissive.

“I also have a conscience.” She folded her arms tighter against him.

“What is conscience but a denial of need?” His head lowered, his hand gripping her chin. “Look at me, Sarah.” He made her obey. She yearned to obey.

“Sarah.” His voice mellowed out as he looked at her. His eyes darkened. She recognized his lust. Her body shivered with response.

“Sarah,” he said again. “I want you. You want me.” He stroked the skin under his fingers. “Ain understands.”

She gulped. Jerked away, releasing herself from his powerful pull. “Very kind of her. I don’t understand. What are you up to, Jareth?”

He sighed, moving away so that he could pace the room. His mood made the lights dim and flicker to near blackness, cognizant of the king’s foul spirit. The castle mimicked his emotion; it hungered as he did. It thirsted for her; it would make her pay for her departure and quick return.

“You came back.” He shrugged, as if the answer explained. Sarah stared at him, unsure about his sudden pensiveness.

“You returned, and I am...lost.” He gave a wan smile, his underbelly exposed. “Sarah--” He held out his palm, grasping for her. Missing and touching air as she darted away.

“No.” Her arms hunkered tight along her body. “I can’t accept this. A fiance that understands? A king that always gets what he wants, more like. You think you can command and all will obey.”

“Do they not?” His smirk returned. “Will you, my dear Sarah--” he said, his muscles taut as he turned to her, “--Obey?”

She snorted. “Of course not. Have I ever?”

Jareth came into her shadow. “That is what I crave about you.” His mouth quirked. “Your unswerving ingratitude. I will steal that precious flaw, my sweet, and enjoy doing it.” He paused, looking at her in depth. “Immensely.”

The word held connotation of want. Of power...

He grinned, stalking her with his gaze. He penned her in, against his muscled body and the bed, a planned calculation. Sarah tucked under his outstretched arm, back into the openness of the room. He frowned as she evaded him.

“Is that all you want? To make me into what you want me to be?”

His eyes flickered. “One would think you didn’t care for me, dear Sarah.” Hurt, in denial. He nudged his body against the bedpost, leaning casually, his tension predatory. “You should know better.”

She smiled, cold and unamused by his tactics to lure her in. “Ain certainly knows better.”

He shrugged away, his position tight and angry. “Yes. She does.” Flatline. Unwilling to seed the jealous questioning by a response.

He touched Sarah’s hair, stroking it within his fingers, a pointed caress. A hungry devouring. “You seem to enjoy making me a monster. Ain knows what I am and doesn’t refute it. Why do you fight me so hard, dear Sarah?”

“You admit to being monstrous?”

“I do.” He smiled, a heady smirk. “I also admit to wanting you, desiring you in my room and in my bed, where you belong. You returned, my sweet, and I will never let you go.” His words were light, in spite of the craven intention.

“We are back to that.” She sighed.

“Yes. We are back to that.” He frowned. “Sarah. I cannot understand your dismay. If Ain is willing, why are you not?”

“I’ll bet she’s willing. You have her under your thumb, I imagine, with no choice at all about what she says and does.”

“That is unacceptable nonsense,” he spat. “I would no sooner harm her than I would you.”

She worried her lower lip. Why was she fighting him so much? She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. They were adults, and if his fiance didn’t mind, why should they? But she did mind. If Ain had been a jealous, nasty bitch, it would have been less a struggle.

Jareth seemed to read her thoughts. “You like her, don’t you?” Boyish anticipation of her answer, his hair flicking down across his dark, dilated eyes. Eyes that held nothing childish in them.

“She is not what I expected.” Honest. Hurt.

He mouthed, careful and meticulous. “No. I imagine she is not.” He waited.

Sarah pondered her choices. Go or stay. Give into lust and betray, or find redemption and leave. Neither choice seemed compelling.

She clutched at the silky fabric of her dress like a lifeline. A faulty, flimsy, lifeline. Jareth watched and waited. The decision, ultimately as always, was hers. Her answer spilled over treacherous lips. “A waste, getting dressed for a wedding that is postponed.”

The fabric clung, rubbing her sensitive skin raw. Her breasts puckered under his scrutiny, her flesh prickling with want. Nothing would please her more than to have his Majesty rip the damned fabric from her body; clawing and inhaling with desire. Her eyes stared up at him. Let him...

He preyed and inwardly she swooned. “Not a waste.”

His fingers stroked her, cautious at first, then insistent. Sarah bowed under his touch. She needed. She craved. Morality, she tossed out into the wind along with practicality. Neither made much of a difference around Jareth; in honest haste, it made little difference to her.

When he kissed her, she gave in. She didn’t want to fight him anymore.

So--

She didn’t…

*****

Chapter Five

She swore she wouldn’t feel shame, but she did. Jareth reclined next to her, his warm body holding hers as if he couldn’t let go. She wanted to sink in, grab him, and suck the marrow of his heart. But his heart, it belonged to another.

“Ain doesn’t mind my taking her place in this room?” Blythe. But lost and dulled with fury, at herself, at the king held tight in her embrace.

Jareth smiled. “Ain has her own quarters. Her own wing in the castle, in fact.” He paused, so that the weight of his words would sink down. “I have never shared the bed in this room with any other.”

“But...she’s your fiance.”

“So you remind me.” He rolled over, his hands braced behind his head.

Sarah snapped, waspish. “Maybe you need reminding.”

“I know what Ain is, and my sweet, she is nothing like you.” Complacent, seemingly bored by her interrogation. His eyes darted to hers as she huffed. He took her hand and squeezed, meaning to reassure. It fell flat.

“I just wish...” Sarah paused, feeling traitorous tears fill her eyes. Jareth rolled over to face her, clasping her face in his palms. His voice softened as he looked at her.

“What do you wish, Sarah?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.” Her voice, small.

“You over think,” he said. “What we have--”

“We don’t have anything. Just lust.”

The lie hurt her insides; he was worth so much more than her deceit, but she refused to reveal her hand. Loving someone had never benefited her. Her voice stung with the treachery.

He stiffened. “Isn’t that enough for now?” A cautious query. Hidden with a wealth of lies and depth.

She mused, the pain instigated by his words burning inside her. “Perhaps it is. And I do over think. My profession demands it.”

“You defend the downtrodden.” He nodded with pleasure at her chosen career.

She forced a laugh. Better to play the lax-feeling whore than a woman in love. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

“It doesn’t surprise me.” He sat up, tugging on his trousers and standing over her. He held out his hand. “Come.” He pulled her to rise, briefly squeezing the hand that tucked within his as he did so. Meant to reassure. Meant to sway and curry favor. She narrowed her eyes, aware of the folly.

“Where are we going?”

“I can’t leave Ain to explain to our guests about the postponement alone. They fill the castle.” He frowned. “I hate my lack of damned privacy.” His words further spawned the hurt, but Sarah didn’t let on. Letting the king of the goblins have sway over her was just wrong. And dangerous.

He looked at her mussed hair and the dress bunched against the wall in the corner, ruined. He waved his hand over her, thoughtful. Observing her with quiet eyes. He gifted her with black trousers and mid-heeled boots, a silk shirt, and a corset that pushed her breasts up past the boundaries of decency.

“You want me to traipse around your castle with my breasts hanging out?”

“I wouldn’t mind.” He grinned, snapping the muse away.

“Change it, please.”

She tempered her plea, fighting anger and pain and the disgust at the woman she was turning into. Wanton. Needy. Careless of others’ emotions. She never would have betrayed another woman for a man before. But Jareth, he caused things to swell up inside of her that she couldn’t relinquish. That she didn’t want to relinquish.

He kissed her, light and quick. “Since you ask so nicely.” He flicked his fingers in her direction, the shirt under the corset gaining two more buttons at the top.

“You still plan on marrying, then?” she asked. Swallowing down bile as she did so.

He looked at her, quiet. “Do you still plan on leaving?”

She nodded. He turned away. Silent and but not answering. She grabbed his hand and he clutched it into a squeeze.

“Let us enjoy this time.” She placated falsely, but he was not appeased.

He turned to her, his gaze ferocious. “I will enjoy it. Every last morsel of you I can.”

She said, a betraying softness in her gaze and touch. “Then, we have that, at least.”

Jareth grabbed her chin in his fingers, caressing. Pinching even as he soothed. “Damn you, Sarah.” He let her go, and the coldness left behind made her tear up again.

“And damn me, too.” He continued, a whisper, barely there. But she heard: the pain, the hurt, the denial. If only if only if only….

They had never done anything more than hurt each other. Now they were hurting Ain. Sarah had yet to determine if she truly cared.

*****

They wound down the hallways, down the stairs. The closer they got to the wing where Ain resided, Sarah started dragging along. Her feet didn’t want to continue, and finally she halted, her eyes wide and her mouth trembling.

Jareth turned, questioning with a silent tilt of his head. Sarah stared at him; the power she felt within the courtroom, the strength in her daily life in the Above, had ceased. Her shoulders shivered; she was a shell of bravery.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I can’t.” She paused, took a deep breath. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” His eyes examined her, revealing nothing. Revealing everything. His passion, his fear, his want. She played down her interest. He couldn’t know what she read in the lines of his face.

She whispered. “I don’t think I can face her. Face them.”

“You are the Champion.” He said it like her distinction solved everything.

“I am also a huge--”

He interjected. “You are the Champion. Your place is by my side.” He squeezed her hand. “Come.”

She let him lead her, but her mind raced elsewhere. Back to her home. The mountains, cool and crisp in the morning air as she sat outside bundled with a wool blanket, sipping coffee and working on her computer. Her cabin, made of stone and wood and windows that watched out to the forest beyond. A dream home, her hard work and dedication to the job making it possible. Her son, making a life of his own as he studied abroad. Her family: Toby, her father, even her stepmother. They had to be wondering why she hadn’t called them. She was usually so punctual about the weekly check-in. Her--

Jareth paused. His temper hovered on a whim, jaw ticking with frustration. He stroked her cheek. “I think you are elsewhere.” Light words. Hidden annoyance.

She squared her shoulders, giving him the explanation she had debated telling. “I want to explore your castle. But I won’t go and interject with the wedding plans, postponed or not.” Asking him, daring him, to defy her.

His eyes blackened with undefinable emotion. He had masked over; he wouldn’t let her in. His touch remained light, coaxing.

“Explore,” he said, his tone fair. Removed. “I will meet you later. In the library, hmm?”

She nodded. The place of infamy. “Yes.”

There was little more to say. He let go of her hand, holding on a moment too long. She felt strangely bereft as he strode away, his back straight, the lines of his body taut. He hadn’t been pleased; she didn’t care. She had to look out for herself. She wasn’t the king’s companion. Ain was. Sarah was just the woman that fell in between.

Alone in the clean, lit passageway, she looked around. Left or right? Up or down? She smiled, recalling how she had been asked that very question once before while visiting the Underground. The smile faded. It didn’t behoove to remember the past. She was a different girl; a different woman, now.

Fingers stroked the stone at her side. They seemed to breathe, to talk in muted tones. Welcome, welcome, dear Champion. Stay...stay, here with us. Stay…

She understood. The air around her sang. It lingered with caress upon her skin and upon her mind. She connected, as she always had, with the essence of the Labyrinth. It was her mother. It was her friend. The Labyrinth was also her enemy. Sarah could never forget that, or she would fall, deep into the spell of the king.

And she might never leave.

She felt the presence behind her, small, weak. Magical.

“Hello.”

Sarah turned. A boy under the age of ten, wan and alabaster pale, with hair as golden-red as the flaring sun. Her eyes smarted, for she knew. This boy was Jareth’s son.

“I know who you are,” the child said, soft, his eyes focusing on her. Jareth’s eyes. “You are the Champion.”

Sarah nodded. Her lungs wouldn’t function; she couldn’t catch a deep breath. And she needed that air desperately. She felt punched. Devoured.

“Are you here to visit me?” the boy said, hope in his voice and gaze.

Sarah examined the child. He had a small body, too small. Sick, perhaps? His skin didn’t glow with illuminated health, though the tinge of magic in him made the boy appear less frail than he might have. As a human child. The kind of child Sarah defended.

She approached the boy, not crouching before him, but taking a cross-legged seat on the stone in front of him. He stood over her, and he smiled, his eyes twinkling at her. The child was Jareth, though a small, pale and sickly version.

Sarah held out a palm, extending in welcome. “What is your name?” she asked, a responding smile on her face.

“Jaren.” The child’s eyes flickered, and then he looked behind him, confessing a secret in hushed tone. “I’m not supposed to be here. I can’t bother you.”

“You aren’t bothering me.” Sarah reassured, her eyes warm. He looked wary, but not about her. No, something, someone looked for the boy, and that someone made the child fear.

“I hid from Nanny,” he said, his eyes skirting behind him again. “She will find me in a moment, I guess.” He pretended nonchalance, but his tiny shoulders quivered.

“How old are you, Jaren?” Sarah peered at the boy, her question the one that all child hated. But she asked it anyway.

“Seven.” He took her hand, looking behind him once more. “Say you’ll visit me, Sarah of the Labyrinth. Please come.”

“I will.” She felt...something hover around them. Jaren quaked.

“I’m coming Nanny,” he said, a deep sigh coming from his concave chest. He looked at Sarah again, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “You promise?”

She nodded. She whispered back. “Promise.”

He smiled, that sweet innocent smile that might have been Jareth’s as a child. Then...he disappeared, and the presence surrounding disappeared as well.

Sarah stood, scraping her hands along her legs. Immaculate. She hadn’t even gotten dirty while residing on the floor. Ain had turned the castle around. She had also become the mother of the Labyrinthine prince.

Jareth had a lot of explaining to do.

*****

Chapter Six

In the end, Sarah decided not to confront Jareth. At least, not yet. A secret, able to give her edge where she felt she had so little. Maybe she would use it to advantage, but thinking of Jaren’s sweet innocence, she knew she would never hurt the boy. Her life had been dedicated to those misfortuned. The prince had given her evidence he was lonely, and watched. Very carefully.

She hummed as she went from hallway to hallway, room to room, avoiding the wing she knew Ain resided in. Her skin tingled whenever she entered, tingled when she left. Magic filtered through her, magic she hadn’t felt upon leaving the Underground the first time. This place, this world, called to her.

She had tried to find magic in the mountains of her Catskills home, an instinctive plea. The forest held its past, but the present gave nothing up. So, the joy of power had faded from her. Wilted like a hothouse plant in the cold. She was coming alive again, strokes of magnificence along her skin. In her mind. In her heart. Maybe the world she left had made her feel accomplished, but it didn’t give her ecstasy of being. And maybe...maybe, she had Jareth to thank for that.

Whispers held within the walls, the hallways. Visitors, unrevealed. Sarah turned from time to time, feeling their magic swell and soar around her, but they never showed themselves. Then the whispers faded, disappeared.

She reached the library, turned the handle on the carved wooden door. Entered. And paused.

Jareth stood by the stained-glass window, shapes of monsters and innocents hounding the glass. Light filtered in, basked upon him. He looked so beautiful. Unapproachable. Hers, if only for the moment.

He turned. Smiled, reached out an imperious hand. Sarah walked forward, her heart beating fast. Thumpity, thump. Thumpity thump. Her face remained calm, absorbed in him but not revealing her turmoil.

“How did you find my castle?” Jareth stared at her, leering deep inside her. She wouldn’t let him see the hurt, the caution, the swelling lust that rode her innards, making him pay for her pain.

“It’s beautiful.” Like you… she never said. He smiled as if he knew. His face tempered, a careful caress of need and impatience. She gave an inward snort at his tempestuous high-handedness.

“I amuse you.” His face clouded.

“Never.” She stood before a king. Not Jareth, not her lover. A man powerful and greedy with it. For a moment she felt the fear that made others cower before him.

“Sarah.” He masked his intensity. “I’m sorry. I am not used to someone,” he said, pausing. Thinking. “Someone that examines me with such depth as you do. You are my equal, my Champion. You never have to bow before me.”

Yet, his teeth gritted. His jaw tensed. The words weren’t easy to say; he rued her strength. He might have hated it. She vowed to remain in his good standing, at least while she was trapped with him. Trapped, but oh...so very willing. Especially whenever he crowded her body with his, sweat dripping and eyes intense.

Her eyes darkened, flashed with brilliant focus. He smiled, going before the mahogany table, tapping, tapping on it lightly with his long, pale fingers. His head tilted to the side, examining her. He knew, understood, the facets of emotion swaying on her face. He came before her, hand outstretched.

A token of peace. A call to draw shields. His lupine grace, the tip of his mouth upturned in a faint quirk as it devoured her, animalistic, thriving with her acquiescence. They didn’t touch. They didn’t have to. A cord bound them—a power deeper and darker than each of them.

She took his hand. Returned the squeeze. And she let him lead her to a chair of scarlet, tucked against the corner. Alone and sequestered.

He pulled her against him, into his lap. She stiffened, then let the curl of complacency overtake her. Trust. Did she trust him? No...but she wanted to.

His fingers stroked her back. Soothing. Compelling. Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your--

“Sarah.” His fingers paused. His voice, tight. “We have a visitor. I have to meet--.”

“Yes. Go,” she said, flustered.

She stood, straightened the shirt that had been ruched up her side out of the binding of the corset, and put on a mask of civility. She saw the man by the door waiting. Looking at her with distaste. Dark haired, dark skinned. Beautiful, with eyes of glaring jade. Unlike the jewel, the man’s eyes had no sparkle. He stood stiff, unrepentant. Jarring.

“Jareth,” she whispered. “Who is that?”

Jareth sighed. “Amr, my general of arms. My second hand. Never fear, my sweet. He may seem repugnant--”

“I am repugnant.” The words may have had humor, if said by a different man. They stood as staunch and unrevealing as the general himself. No bend. No smile of greeting.

“You tease,” Jareth said, almost knocking the man over with a clip to the shoulder. A warning. “Don’t you know to whom you speak?”

The general bowed his head. Sharp. As sharp as the daggers of his alluring eyes. “Champion.”

Sarah returned the gesture, only glancing over to Jareth once. His frown indicated he knew how she was being insulted, and would give retribution.

His words were curt to his general. “Sarah is my guest. My honored guest.” Daring the dark-haired man to abuse her again, on threat of penalty.

“Welcome.” Lighter, but no less of a bark, and a complete falsehood. He didn’t want her there, in the castle, near the king, and he gave no secret of it.

“I don’t believe I met you the last time I was here.” She applied courtesy, when she wanted to throttle the general for his hasty assumption about her. But then again, maybe he was correct. She had infiltrated the castle. Just as she had before.

“No.” One word. A dismissal. He turned to his king. “Might I speak with you?”

Jareth crossed his arms. “You may.”

The general shifted, uncomfortable. His silence, a curse. “Perhaps while the Champion retires to her room?”

“Her room is my own, as you well know,” Jareth said in a snipe. “And you may speak. Now, in front of her, for she is welcome to anything pertaining to my home.”

Amr leaned forward, his voice a grunt of a whisper, daring to defy. “The Labyrinth.”

Jareth gave a sigh. “What of it?”

The general looked at Sarah, unsure, then back to the king. “It grows.”

*****

Jareth darted a glance to Sarah. She made herself seem uninterested, though her curiosity had peaked at the subterfuge. He turned back to Amr.

“Watch it closely. Don’t let it get out of control. You know what will happen--”

“I do.” The general bowed, one last glance at Sarah, before he turned and marched out the door.

Sarah made her fingers a bower before her waist. “What will happen?”

He ignored her, in spite of his insinuation that she could know anything. He strode before her, observing her falsely innocent stance, and smiled. “My devious Sarah. What goes on in that beautiful head of yours?”

“I could question the same.”

She stored the information in her mind for a later time. A time she could investigate while alone. The pull at her side made her ache, a shadowed string that instigated. She rubbed at it absentmindedly.

Changing the subject, she asked, “Does everyone know I am sharing your room?”

“The important ones do.”

“Does Ain?”

“She knows everything.”

The comment gave all, and nothing, away. Sarah frowned. She opened her mouth to question him further, when he drew in and kissed her. Passionately, devotedly. Like a man starved for her. Like a man--

She couldn’t think, and she realized in belated discovery, that was what Jareth intended. The schemer! She bit his lower lip in retaliation, and he moaned into her, enjoying her present of pain. They battled, core to core, mouth to mouth.

She knew, without a doubt, she would end up braced against that mahogany table once more. And she wished it, with all her might….

*****

It was a tumbled, wet, and hurried affair. Sarah awoke as he removed from her with a slurp. The breathing slowed. The clothing tucked on. She watched him as he pulled on trousers and shirt. She buttoned her blouse, left off the corset, and pondered. Hair straightened and unraveled from gripping palm...and palm. Playing coy had never been her forte. Jareth’s either, it seemed. Their lust tugged. Swayed and convinced. Made them blind to discomfort and pain.

She looked at him. “Jareth. What are we?”

He flushed. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” She snapped, her temper at a loss. “You know what I mean. What are we? To each other?”

“You are the woman I have long waited for. You are my Champion.”

She stumbled over her tongue. “Your champion...” She couldn’t think for the fury, the loss. “I understand.”

“Do you?” Jareth stalked her, a king where he had been lover. His changes flustered her; made her unsure and doubt her sanity. “I don’t think you do.”

“Tell me then.”

He appeared to ignore her, then he said. “The pain. Do you feel it, tugging at you? Making you want and desire?”

She nodded. Pain...yes. She felt pain, and more so when he revealed nothing but the mystery of word.

His eyes darkened as they gazed upon her, a trickle of sweat still beading his forehead. “Let it devour you. Let it make you whole.” He stroked her hair. “I promise you, you will know. I swear it, my sweet Sarah.”

She pulled back. Away to safety. Jareth let her, though his eyes became a storm.

They clashed. Like thunder to the lightening. Both part of the destruction, each a winnowing glance of the whole. But Sarah didn’t believe in soulmates, and Jareth certainly wasn’t hers. If anything, he was the monster under her bed as a child, the shadows that followed her on a sunny day, the terror of failure throughout her life. No, he was no soulmate. But she didn’t, for the moment, care. She wanted him; he wanted her.

It had to be enough.

*****

Chapter Seven

Sarah dressed for dinner, a gown of virginal white. She scoffed, holding out the offending fabric.

Jareth turned. He had scraped his shorter hair back from his face. He was gorgeous. She frowned, hating how he wooed her without even trying. His dress shirt was on, still opened at the collar; his trousers, unbuttoned to show his loin.

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

“I’m not fifteen anymore.”

“I know.” He came up behind her, kissed her neck with a need, a tenderness that made her eyes water. She pulled away, letting the touch linger in her mind. He made covetousness seem good. Plausible.

“My vicious Sarah. So viperous. So dangerous.”

Jareth tucked his shirt into his trousers, fastening himself in. She stared. He grinned. It hadn’t been long before that he had her twisted against the wall, pounding into her. The sex, it was fantastic. She just didn’t know if it was enough.

She rubbed at her side. It hurt, ached with a ferociousness that scared her. If blood had streamed from her body, crimson red and bathed in darkened light, she wouldn’t have been surprised. But her hand came away clean. It was only her heart that bled.

“What are you thinking, my Champion?” His voice lured, a changeling of the shadow. She turned away, just long enough to stroke away an errant tear.

He was immediately before her, pulling her to him. “Are you crying? What is the matter?”

She lied. “I miss my home. My family.”

His jaw stiffened. “You do.” A statement of hurt. A dismissal of intention. He began to kiss her, up her throat and to her trembling lips. Meant to appease and stun, to show her who ruled over whom.

She jerked back. “No.”

Jareth sighed. “I don’t know how to solve you.” Like she was a puzzle, a game to him.

He moved away, to a waiting chair. Slumping into it. Not the brazen, assured king at the moment. He looked at her, his eyes tired.

“Did I ever mention what happened when you left?” Left me. Unspoken.

Sarah braced herself, her tone going tart. “You turned into an owl and watched me from outside my bedroom window.”

A wan smile. “After that, I mean.”

She perched on the table beside him. Ready to run. Ready to embrace. “No.”

He swallowed. “I...” He paused, his voice soft. “I became a shell of myself. My power eluded me. I felt...” He stumbled over word. “...Lost.”

Information she wished she hadn’t heard. It was too much; his pain. She had gone on with her life—eventually. It appeared he had a harder time of it. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

He gave a weak smile, ready to railroad her into compassion. Even in misery, he triumphed. “I bedded woman after woman. Night after night. They were meaningless to me, a distraction.”

“I’m sure.” She crossed her arms. She didn’t know why the declaration hurt like it did.

“Then, I saw Ain at a masquerade.” He gave a small smirk at Sarah’s startled lurch. “We talked. Reconvened.”

“You knew her.” She tried to gather her pride, her voice oddly flat. How easy he swept her off foot, making her feel every millisecond of the pain he claimed he felt when she left.

He nodded. “I’ve known her since childhood. She’s older than I, so as a youth I never paid much attention to her, nor she to I.”

“You slept with her.” It hurt hurt hurt, his words. Her mouth tensed.

“Yes.” He shifted. Discomfort for his actions? Perhaps... “She cured me of what I was missing.” You, he insinuated, though never spoke. Perhaps she only wished it was what he meant. He peered at her under long lashes. “I needed her.” Because of you...

“I’m sorry.” Small. Reciprocal. He smiled, a triumphant glean in his eye, his mission accomplished. He had made her miss him, feel sorry for him. Want him...again.

He stood in a flurry, his face a painted mask. Gone was the shame, the agony. The retribution in his voice. “Well. It is done.”

Sarah stared. “That’s all?” Her arms fell to her side. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

He gave an innocent look. “Isn’t that enough?”

She did feel pain, and she wanted to direct it to him. “Jareth!” A warning.

He laughed. Forced, perhaps, but antagonizing. “What, my sweet? You are bloodthirsty for knowledge. I have simply given you what you wanted.”

“Never mind.” Maybe he teased, his admission a lie. She didn’t trust him enough to believe him anyway.

He choked a laugh, his truest emotion hidden from her. Neither trusted. Neither believed. “You will find out everything you need to know. In due time.”

She nodded. “If I remain.”

He returned the gesture, sad again. “Yes. If you remain.”

*****

Ain joined them for dinner. So did Amr. The two of them laughed quietly with the other while Sarah sat in silence, poking at her food. Jareth basked over them all with kingly pomp. His meal was also untouched, though his goblet of wine had been refilled several times already. His eyes had a dazed glare on them, though not from drunkenness. He held his drink like he held his women. Tight to the core.

Ain turned to him. “My love. Are you not hungry?”

“No.” Terse. Bitter.

Sarah stabbed a bite and chewed, debating tearing into Jareth for his obtuseness. Ain loved him. Sarah…she wasn’t so sure anymore. He had the ability to make her peel away in shredded layers, to make her doubt, to sway all hurt and pain and discomfort, leaving a bloody mess behind. He may have been her lover, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted the man under the crown.

Ain turned to her. Sarah jolted out of her miserable ruminations.

“Champion.” Ain smiled, that disturbing warm smile. “My king tells me that you will be visiting with us for some time.”

Sarah’s eyes snapped to Jareth, suddenly alert and watching her. She answered carefully. “I may. If that doesn’t inconvenience.”

The woman grabbed her hand from across the corner of the table, clutching tight and squeezing. “Of course not. You are welcome.”

She said it like she was the hostess and Sarah gifted company. Which, there was little doubt, she was.

Amr narrowed his eyes at her. No words, just distaste. He turned his attention back to the redhead at his side. His eyes flicked with softness.

Interesting…

Jareth leaned in. “Forget everything you think you know.” He smirked. “It’s wrong.”

Sarah straightened, her voice as hushed. “You don’t care.”

“That my general wants to fuck my fiance?” His teeth sharpened like pearly daggers. “No.”

She shook her head, repulsed. “Your world is not to my taste.”

“No?” Jareth’s eyes narrowed. “Such talented prudence, such miserable waste.”

“What do you mean? You talk in riddles.” She snapped at him, trying to keep her voice lowered.

“I mean, it was not one hour ago I had you up against that lovely wall, your head banging against it as you shrieked my name.” He licked his lips. “I can still taste you on my tongue.”

“Quiet!” She looked to see if anyone had overheard.

His voice sharpened, scolded. “You with high morality. Don’t judge what you dole out freely.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” she said, miserable in the truth.

He leaned in. “Not fair?” Jareth smiled at her reaction, knee-jerking and tense. He leaned back, relieving her. “No. I imagine you think not.”

She snapped, waspish, her tone still low. Her body leaning as far into him as she dared. “I get it. I’m a whore--”

Jareth grabbed her hand. Tight. Unrelenting.

“Never! Never do I want to hear those words from your mouth again. You are not,” he said, “A whore. You are my Champion.”

“Your lover.”

“Yes.” He smiled, content as the cat that had devoured the mouse under its paws. “You are that, too.”

Sarah bit back. “I promise you. I will leave. And not have one. Single. Regret.”

His voice played cool, though she saw a trickle of sweat bead on his brow. He took a genteel sip of his wine. “I’m glad to hear it.”

*****

Dinner dragged, though they only had the main course and a light refreshment of sorbet later. Ain and Amr seemed content to sit by the other, conversing. Jareth stared at her most of the meal, his smirk grating. Sarah, in a fit of pique, decided that she would not only eat the whole plate that was given her, but seconds, and Jareth’s untouched sorbet as well.

She licked the spoon seductively, making a coy face as Jareth’s face heated. She played with fire, especially with Ain at the table, but they knew what she was, what role she played. So she played it.

She looked at him, sucking and licking, pulling the utensil slowly in and out of her mouth. Jareth stood, a flurry of motion, taking her hand as he did so.

“Dinner’s over,” he said, dragging Sarah behind him to the hallway, then beyond. She heard murmurs behind her, Ain and Amr rising and going on their way. They must have gone a different direction, for they didn’t see them in their path.

They turned the corner, a corridor with no door, no window. Jareth smashed his lips to Sarah’s, hungry and persuasive. Now he was the one licking and caressing. Sarah moaned.

“Oh, my sweet,” he said, into her neck where her shoulder met. “I have waited long for you.”

Her side throbbed. The heat of her core throbbed. She wanted him now, against the wall. She tugged on his head as it lowered down her body, kissing and sucking.

His words caught up to her in the daze of her lust. “You waited...” She pushed him away, frustration building. “Jareth. Stop.”

He pulled back, his eyes blackened with passion as they gazed on her. “Stop.” He paused, analyzing, his head tilted in query. “Why?”

“Because I said so. Because this is a sham. Because I feel guilty as hell.” She glared. “So, yes. Stop.”

“As you wish,” he said smoothly, giving in but with a tight jaw and tight frame. Discontent, though trying to rein it. He took her hand, moving them with a swift magic, into the library. He stepped away from her body as she acclimated to the shift, going before the fireplace, hands tucked in the pockets of his lean cut trousers. He peered into the depths of the burn, saying nothing.

“I want to go home,” Sarah said, her voice a whisper above the roar of the flames.

He jerked, a tremble in his body, a reluctance to accept. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” She strode before him, standing at his side. Not touching.

He shrugged. “I didn’t bring you here.”

“But you would have.” No question; she knew.

“Yes!” He turned, his face ferocious. “I tried. Over and over. But my magic limited me.” He looked away, his outburst fading. His body ramrod straight, though he leaned a forearm against the wall, head in hand.

She touched his shoulder, tentative. “I didn’t know that.”

“Did you think I would forget you so easily?” Resigned. Dullness in his tone.

“I was only a child.” She refused his adamance. Denied it, even as it made her soar.

“No child. Young, perhaps, but on the cusp of adulthood.” His eyes burned like the fire. “I would have waited until you were ready.” He looked back at the flame, his voice a hush. “I would have waited forever.”

“But you didn’t.”

He shrugged. “Things changed. Things out of my control.”

“I thought you were king.”

He turned, his eyes wilted in sadness. “Kings are just men. And men have to do the right thing...sometimes.”

He walked away, leaving her in the semi-darkness. The door to the library slammed. She was alone.

*****

Chapter Eight

Jareth stalked down the hallways, coming before the one he knew he should visit. But didn’t. He sighed, moving down the corridors with vicious stealth, opening the door to his study beside the throne room, and retreating. He wanted to lick his wounds. He wanted to bring annihilation...retribution. He did neither.

His friend and general, Amr, found him sitting in a low backed chair by the fireplace, his shirt unfastened to mid-chest, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Deceptively casual; a man plotting and contemplating his next move. A man near broken.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he said, taking a seat beside Jareth, kicking off his boots. One thud on the floor. Another. Amr stretched out his long legs, looking at his socks.

“You have a hole in one of them.” Bored. Apathetic.

“It’s from running away. Damned castle. Nowhere to hide.” Amr yawned, his jaw cracking with the effort. “She is persistent.” Not a complaint, but a warning. They both knew to whom he referred.

“Part of your job description. No complaints...” A teasing taunt, left lacking. Jareth kept staring, any humor he found in the situation dissipating under his self pity. The fire fascinated, lured with its wicked taper of flame. He rolled a crystal, over and over, over and over, within his fingers. Not even looking at that.

“I pick my battles.” Amr leaned back into the soft chair, propping his elbows on the armrest. He moved, constant and fidgety. Relaxed enough in the presence of the king to be himself. He shifted from shadow to light, warrior to friend. Jareth barely acknowledged him, preferring to bask in the seductive pull of the firelight. Amr said, his voice giving weight, “So should you.”

“She hates it here. Hates me.” Jareth didn’t have to stress who.

Silence.

The general looked at Jareth, stabbing him with honesty, cutting to the core. “You can’t make her do what she doesn’t want to do.” A friend to a friend, able to give truth without fear of reciprocal action.

Jareth nodded. His head went into his hands. “I scare her.”

“You scare everyone. That’s the role you are born to fulfill. Hell, you scare me.” Amr grinned.

“Asshole.” Jareth perked at the compliment. “Sarah is...” He paused, searching for words. Finding none to encompass.

“She is her own woman. Did you think you would find a shrinking flower of a fifteen year old, ready to obey your every command? Fuck that. You’d be bored to tears with her if she was.”

Jareth’s eyes brightened. He sat straighter in the plush chair. “I rather like that badass ploy she puts on. Makes me want to--”

Amr raised an eyebrow. But Jareth didn’t finish, or intend to finish his statement. “I’m trying,” he said, his eyes going back to the flame, his body slumping into a curve. A curve of pain. And need. And desperation.

Amr snapped at him. “Try harder. There is much to gain.”

“Gain...” Jareth mused. “I’m screwing up.”

“You won’t gain the Champion from fucking her to death.”

“I sure as hell am trying.” Jareth lightened, shifted. Then he fell back into despondency, the fire his sad focus. “I don’t know how to keep her.”

“You can’t keep her, my friend. She is as powerful, if not more so, than you. She will stay if she wants to.”

Jareth sighed. “She wants to leave.”

“If she truly wanted that, she would be gone.”

Amr jabbed viciously at the fire with the poker, flecks of flame bursting out into the air. The tone shifted, tensed, released into joined camaraderie. The king would have killed a lesser man for voicing opinion about the Champion. It was a fine line; Amr crossed it daily, the benefit of growing up together. Jareth turned to him, his expression fierce, his voice soft. Deadly.

“So. How is Ain?” A loaded question. The general shifted, looking alarmed for a moment. Jareth grinned, his canines glistening. He looked rapacious; he looked like a man ready to consume: failure, darkness, the glint of pain that hovered around them like a live thing.

“Delicious, as always.” A muted reply. Ankles crossed, arms went behind his head. The general stared skyward. His one bare toe peeked out from the sock, wiggling in the warm air.

“She’s hellbent--”

“You knew...” Amr shifted, uneasy. He didn’t have to finish. They had known each other long enough to finish the others’ thoughts, though talk of Jareth’s fiance was enough to cause friction.

“Yes. I knew.” Repleted emotion.

“She is trying to get under your skin, and doing a fine job of it, it seems.” Amr leaned forward, intense.

Jareth sniffed. “She’ll win. She always wins.” He turned to the fire again.

“The Champion...or Ain?”

Jareth snorted a half laugh. Half battle-cry. “Both.”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You wallow in misery, making it your companion.” Jareth grunted. Amr continued. “You’ve painted a pretty web of deceit, my king. Sure is hard to be a monster and a man in love.”

“Get out.” But the demand had no backbone, no verve. For the moment, the king enjoyed his wallow; he liked the self-pity. He craved oblivion.

Amr stood anyway, tucking his holed socks into his shiny boots. “Well...I’m off to destroy and ravage. How about you? Any more doors I need to repair? Any women to console?”

Jareth chuckled. “Get out. You wear on me, my friend.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” The door clicked shut behind Amr, and silence resumed.

The king waited until the fire burned to ember and ash. Then he waited some more.

When Jareth dragged into his suite of rooms early in the morning, Sarah had gone to bed. She was still dressed in her virginal pale gown, sprawled across the covers, a forearm crossing over her eyes. He shifted her so that she was underneath the blanket, lightly kissed her forehead, and spooned behind her. His arm tightened around her waist, and he slipped into a restless slumber.

*****

The next morning, before Jareth had even stirred, Sarah got up and dressed in comfortable trousers and a loose top. She didn’t want to think how the wardrobe had clothing in her size; maybe magic just was, a mixed conglomeration of wish and need. She grabbed her boots from under the bed. She knew how they had gotten there. The memory made her flush. While she looked, she pulled out the previous days clothing, jumbled in a mess, and threw it into a designated basket.

The king may have been precise when it came to ruling his kingdom, but in the privacy of his rooms, he was a bit untidy. Her mouth quirked. At least she knew he wasn’t perfect. She had to convince herself to add the flaw to the growing list about him.

She snuck into the hallway, not catching a deep breath until she was near the kitchen. Jareth wouldn’t deign to come there, and she had to get herself some breakfast, and a special treat for Jaren. She promised the boy a visit, and she meant to keep her word.

Jareth’s son had his own chambers in a hallways adjacent, but not next to, Ain’s. It seemed strange to Sarah that he would be so far removed from his mother, especially because the child seemed sickly. She pushed aside the judgment, though it nagged at her.

The boy’s eyes lit up when she knocked and entered his room, even more when he saw the large slice of cake in her hand. “You came!” he said, and tried to get out of bed. He coughed, a phlegm filled sound that rattled his chest.

“No, stay. I’ll come sit beside you,” Sarah said. “I brought a game. Do you like checkers?”

His answer came tentative. Unsure. “I don’t know. No one plays games with me. Mother hates them, and Dad...he can’t stay long enough for that.”

“No?” She masked discomfort. Maybe she was overstepping her bounds by introducing it to him.

“Nope,” Jaren said. “But I’m probably good at them. My dad sure is.”

She smiled. “Yes. He is.” She pulled up a table, laden with books, and set the dessert plate and fork on it. She picked up one of the stories, frowning. “You read these?” His reading material was suitable for someone years older; the level of skill to consume, older than that of a child his age.

“Yup.” He pointed to a gold leather bound volume. “Except that one. My dad reads that to me.” He amended. “When he’s able to visit.”

Tolkien. “Interesting,” she said, smiling. “So, do you want your cake now, or later? It’s kinda early for sugar.”

His eyes flickered. “Well, I do want it now, but I don’t know what Nanny would do.”

“I’ll just leave it here, then, until you know.”

She felt a presence, a trembling force that swelled and filled the air. “Hello?” She trembled. The air had gone chill, though it gradually warmed. Jaren smiled.

“Nanny likes you. She doesn’t like anyone, not even Mother.”

“Really?” Cautiously feeling out the situation.

“Uh-huh.” He grabbed the cake, shoving a large bite in his mouth, then giggling. “I had breakfast, but I’m still hungry. I always am.”

“Good thing I brought the largest slice.” Sarah laughed, and began setting up the board, explaining the rules.

The child grabbed at her wrist, holding on with question. “You’ll stay, even if my Mother comes in, right?”

Slowly she nodded. Calm, she gestured to him to start the game, though her nerves suddenly felt weak.

He crowed as he won the first game, then the second. His face screwed up. “You’re not just letting me win, are you?”

“Nope, buddy-boy. It’s all you.”

His delight was infectious. Like his cheery laugh, broken by racking coughs.

The presence of the invisible Nanny filtered around the room. Clothes that were laid on a chair, put away. Curtains pulled back to let in the light. Warmth surrounded the being; benevolent or not, it didn’t seem inclined to push Sarah out the door.

She had only been in the room less than two hours, but Jaren started yawning, his eyes growing weak and tired, despite the short amount of time passed. He helped her clean up the game. Yawned again.

Sarah stood, lightly tapped his nose with a forefinger to make him smile, and turned to the door. “I’ll come back, when you have rested. Another day, hmm?”

“Yes, please.” He tucked under the covers, half asleep. She had reached the exit when his voice piped out. “Miss Sarah?”

She turned. He said, his voice soft, “I’m glad you aren’t afraid.” He yawned, confessing, “I am.”

She nodded, not knowing what he meant. But his Nanny swung the door open, and it was her cue to depart.

She stood in the hallway outside his room a long time. Then she went to find Jareth.

*****

Chapter Nine

It took many wrong turns and missed hallways before Sarah found the king, holed up in a small room beyond his throne. She raised her hand to knock, but she heard him from inside bidding her to enter. His smile was bright as she stepped within, his lean body slouched in a chair by the fire. He straightened as she entered. A crystal in his hand disappeared into the folds of time and space, from where he had gathered it.

“Sarah,” he said, his eyes lit from the depths of him. “To what to I owe this delight?”

She stood before him, cool and collected. “I’ve met your son.” Blunt. Not giving into the doubt that festered.

Jareth paled. His eyes flashed, a bit of fire, a bit of rage.

“You had no right.” His words clipped. Fierce, proud.

“Perhaps not. Although he found me.”

“How?” Terse. Defiant, his fingers flicking on the armrest of his chair.

“How did he find me, or--”

“No.” Succinct. A terrible reckoning filtering from his body. “How did you dare presume? I gave you no leeway to visit.”

Her jaw clenched. He may have been correct; she had presumed. But the boy begged her; his loneliness reached for her, and as a mother, she wouldn’t ignore that.

“Why is he kept from the rest of the household, and why haven’t I been introduced to him before now?” Rapid-fire, begging him to deter her.

Jareth stood, stalking. “That, my sweet, is the question. Why?” He stroked his jaw, falsely contemplative. He pounced; his words a strike at her. “I didn’t introduce you...because you had no right to know.”

She tossed his vaporous venom back at him. “Why?”

His wrath dissipated with a sharp pop, a crystal bursting as if hitting stone. “Why do we keep secrets?” He mused. “Because, my sweet, we can.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“That’s all I can give.”

She folded her arms against her breasts. “That’s a load of shit, Jareth. Because we can? Tell me the truth. Why is Jaren kept alone, and why is he,” she paused delicately, “Not well?”

“As to the first, I won’t say. The second...” He sighed. “I don’t know. If I could make him better, I would. I have tried.”

“He’s not going to--”

A warning glance. She bit back the question, though he had answered it already. His son would die. She said, soft, “Can anything be done?”

“No.” His eyes were bleak.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded. He smiled, his pain a trigger for his attacking words.

“Secrets, my dear Sarah, are there for a reason. You have them yourself, don’t you? If we are so intent on honesty, why don’t you exude some of it yourself?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Her brow furrowed.

He came before her, took her left hand, stroking her fingers lightly. “You have an indentation in your third finger, here...” He rubbed the offending spot. “You wore a ring there for a very long time.” He narrowed his eyes. “A wedding ring, if I am not wrong.”

She tipped her chin, yanking her hand away. “You are correct.”

“Secrets, my sweet. We all have them.” He circled her, tight near her body. “For instance, you never shared that you have a son of your own. Did you, my precious one?”

She smiled, a wicked glint in her eye, mimicking his mockery. “Yes, very true. I do have a son. But I don’t see how that can have anything to do with you.”

Jareth flicked a crystal from his fingers to peer within. “You never thought to ponder that while you were safe from my sight, he was not?”

“What do you mean?” Her voice came out cold.

“He is studying abroad, your son...Jason, correct?” He tested and teased with rapacious claws. Dangling her from them, ready to devour. Ready to give retribution for her prying.

“Leave him alone.” Soft. Lethal; a mother’s reckoning.

He tossed the crystal, leaving it to shatter by her feet. “I don’t wish to harm your son, Sarah.” She shivered at the bite in his voice. “Do you think me so monstrous?”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin further, angry tears blurring her eyes. “You’ve not harmed him?”

“No. I have not.”

“Swear it!”

He wiped away the lone tear that had coursed down her cheek. She jerked away.

“I swear.”

She relaxed. Perhaps Jareth could lie, but she knew he hadn’t. She knew it as she knew that man she tucked into her body time and again, the king who made her scream with ecstasy. They were one and the same.

He paced, a monarch on the prowl. “You might want to keep a closer eye on him, though. Isn’t that what mothers are known for? Monitoring their children, come what may?”

Something hid in the depths of his voice. Something she couldn’t understand. That he didn’t want her to understand.

“Spill it, Jareth.” She quaked inside. She hadn’t spoken to Jason in over a month, but it was the way her son preferred it. He was an adult, and didn’t need smothering.

Jareth procured another crystal. “For you. Just in case you decide you need to see how he’s doing.” It was a dare; one she accepted.

She took it, catching it in her palm. It nestled there, as if content to be in her hand. Sarah’s eyes searched the king’s, unsure of his motivation. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Of course.” He walked away, going to sit on the chair, one leg swinging over a knee. He steepled his fingers as his elbows rested on the arm of the chair. “Sarah.” She looked at him. He grinned a lupine smile.

“We have a dinner planned tonight. You might want to dress in something...more befitting a woman of the court.”

He was dismissing her. As if she were a burden and not the woman he sunk his body into during the night. She glared.

He waved to the door. “Til later, my sweet.”

His eyes shadowed. He still hid something from her. And he cursed her with his blandness, a front for his anger. She had overstepped her bounds, and he wouldn’t let her forget it.

She huffed, turned to the exit. He called to her, a moment before she barged out, “And Sarah.”

She turned, her jaw set. “You might want to check on Jason, sooner rather than later.” A warning; a plea.

*****

He was making her pay for her mistake. Jareth must be very fearful of her presence in Jaren’s room. But why? Sarah stood outside in the clean throne room, the crystal clutched in her hand.

She shook it. Nothing. She commanded it. Nothing. She was ready to toss it, frustrated, when it lit and showed her...an empty room.

No. Not empty. Just sparse.

She looked closer. The edges of the image grew clearer as she gazed within. She gasped. She saw Jason, crying...and alternately giving his childish-pout face, in the small room. A cell. He looked up, his blue eyes angry and lost. As if he knew she were there, watching. She saw him mouth her name. Mom…

She turned, storming back into the room Jareth had just dismissed her from. “What the hell is this? Where is he?”

“Your son?”

“Tell me. Now.” She would claw his eyes from his face for his nonchalance, and she speared them in readiness.

He attempted to placate. False with charm. “You should be thanking me for keeping an eye on him, Sarah.”

“Where is he? Through gritted teeth.

“He is there, in that disturbing country he meant to study in--” He taunted, cajoled. He erected punishment for her disturbance of his privacy. Damn him!

“Why is he in a prison?” She growled, mother-hackles rising.

Jareth answered calmly. “He is wanted for possession of illegals.”

“Drugs? Impossible. My son doesn’t--”

“I assure you, he does. His trial, if you call it that, is in a month. He won’t last that long.”

Her anger faded. He spoke truth. She panicked, not caring if she had to beg. “Do something!”

“What do you want me to do? He must pay the consequence. If he were in my court, he would be dead already.”

Sarah burst into tears, throwing herself at Jareth’s shins. At his mercy. She would become abject, worthless, a sniveling worm, if the king so pleased. Anything, anything to get her son back…

He cupped her chin, and raised her to her feet, even as he stood before her. “Don’t bow before me, Sarah. You--”

“Please, Jareth,” she said, rivulets of tears streaming her face. “Please, don’t be cruel. Save him!”

He clicked his tongue. “Cruel.” He appeared to weigh the word. “Isn’t that the very thing you love to accuse me of?” He debated the word. “Maybe I am...cruel.” His lips were a harsh line. His eyes, soft as they looked upon her.

She stammered. “I’m...I’m sorry.”

His voice mellowed, gentle as he wiped her cheeks. “There is nothing I can do.”

“But...but why?” The tears started gushing fresh.

“He’s not a child,” he said, gentle. “Nor a wished away.” He seemed sincere, but that didn’t help Jason. “I don’t have the power.” His teeth set on edge, as if he hated admitting a weakness.

She flared. “What good are you! If you can’t save him, he’ll die.” She flailed out of his arms. “You have found the quickest way to kill me then, for if he dies, I have nothing in me left.”

He grabbed her, crushed her to his lean body. “Don’t say that! Never say that!”

Her voice grew cold and she separated from him. “Do something. Or I will kill each and every thing you love.”

He shoved his hands into his trouser pocket, seemingly relaxed. His stance held tight. Worried.

“I can’t do anything, my sweet.” He paused, dramatic, looking at her under lowered lashes.

She snapped at him, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

“It’s simple. Think, my sweet. Think! You are worth more than you realize.”

She floundered. “You talk in circles. I don’t--”

He pulled her into his embrace, his words intense. Frustrated by her blindness. “I can’t tell you. Just think, my sweet...” He plead, his eyes begging as she had with him. Maybe the monster inside of him felt pity; Sarah stirred.

She stiffened. “What do you mean? That I--”

Her eyes widened. She understood his baiting. He wanted her to see…

“I can bring him home.” She said it with surety. He nodded.

“Exactly that. You are his mother. Bring him home,” he said, then added, “Or here, rather.”

“And why would I chose to trade him one prison for another?” Wary. Confused.

“Would you rather he--”

“No, damn you!” She spun around, her back to him. She shivered, and caught a deep breath before she faced him again. “Tell me what I have to do.”

*****

Chapter Ten

Jareth took her by the shoulders, kissing her forehead with equal measure of possession and accord. She shivered, not only for the statement that he found her to be an equal, but the encompassing lust that overrode his actions, stymying her in.

“Go to him,” he said, his voice bland.

She questioned with her brows drawn. He continued, “He is here, a guest in my east wing, the one nearest Amr.”

“How?” Flustered.

He shrugged, a canine-ready grin quirking the side of his mouth. “You wished, so he is here.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

He gently pushed her to the door, any words between them, forgotten. “Go, my sweet. Greet your son. Welcome him to the kingdom.” His words, carefully bland; seeing more than she saw or dared comprehend.

She turned, looked back at him, his face concealed of emotion. He added, his smirk full-blown, “Wear the gold dress tonight. It will suit you, I think.” A command made light, softened by his detail to her emotion, still on edge. Meant to distract.

She nodded. Tears filtered to her eyes. Jareth must have brought Jason, after all. She may have wished, but she hadn’t his magic, his will to control whim and desire. She would wear anything he wanted; she would go naked in front of his courtiers if that is what he demanded, for what he had done for her.

“Oh, and Sarah...” His face, glittering and odd. “Don’t be passive in dealing with him. He may be a guest, but that is a given courtesy for you alone. If I had my say, he would be in the dungeons, riding out his sentence.” His voice a lilted medley of concern and his own patriarchal sternness. She wondered how he treated Jaren; but the boy had given no mention Jareth was unnecessarily harsh to him.

She murmured a response, shell-shocked by the quickness the matter had been resolved. “Of course.” She heard his soft chuckle as she exited the room.

She half ran, half tripped along the hallways until she reached the rooms next to the general’s. She stopped, gathering breath and steel along her spine. Jason had a temper. He was obstinate, like his father, like her. He would be hard to deal with, as he had been, especially from the time of Sarah’s divorce.

She opened the door, not knocking. Jason sat with his head in his hands, on the edge of the smallish bed. His feet would trail over the end, if he stretched full out. He was tall, lean and muscled; a handsome young man, with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes.

He looked up. “Mom.” He didn’t move, just stared at her with bleak eyes.

“Jason.” She reached for him. He pulled back, shaking his head.

“What is this place?” He looked as if in a trance, gazing around with wonder and disbelief.

She looked around herself, measuring and weighing, the clean though plain setting, the stone walls with two small windows near the ceiling giving in scant light. The room held only a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk with matching chair. Another chair stood against the wall, where she entered. The room was simple. Efficient. Jareth had given him a room where he couldn’t escape. Still a prisoner, just of a different making.

She pulled up the second chair, hard backed and firm-seated. She decided on truth. “Do you remember the story I used to tell you when you were a little boy? The one about the king, and his kingdom far Underground?”

He nodded. He held his head as if it spun. It likely did. Travel to Jareth’s world wasn’t meant for humans.

She swallowed, took his hand. “They are all true.”

“Fuck, Mom. My head hurts enough without you telling me some fairy tale.”

“Language, Jason.” She said it absentmindedly, the one thing she constantly had to remind him of. He groaned.

“Am I asleep?” He peered around, still holding his head. “Nice room.” Sarcastic. “Better than the one I’ve been in.”

“You’re awake,” she said, pulling her hand back to her lap, her voice brisk at his careless tone. “I don’t need to remind you that you wouldn’t have been in that cell room without cause.”

“Shit, this is real, isn’t it?” He turned his head to look at the room closer. “Did you buy them off?”

She snapped at him. “No. I did not.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple lurching. “Did Dad?”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

He had hope in his voice. She swallowed fury. Of course he wanted her to tell Desmond. Her ex-husband would scorn Jason’s jailers, giving every excuse possible why his son had reason to have done what he had done, letting him off with nary a word. That lenience had been a core reason Sarah had fought with him; he never took things seriously.

Neither, apparently, did her son. She paused, just long enough for him to gain a triumphant gleam to his eye.

“So...” he said, standing. “Let’s get the hell out of here, then.”

“I know what you were accused of, Jason.” She set her face against him. “What were you thinking? Drugs!”

He mumbled. “I needed the money.”

“So you decided to go black market and sell out your future in the process.” Her voice, flat. Her eyes, narrowed with observance. He didn’t care; she saw it in the loose lines of his body, as if he had little care in the world now that he was free of the prison. She added, caustic, “I can’t imagine you were broke. Your father and I saw to that.”

“You don’t understand.” He shook his head, self-pity gathering.

“No. I don’t.” She stood also. “You will come to understand this, though. You are in a new world, a place ruled by a king who is determined to remain gracious with you. You will work off your prison debt--”

Jason threw his hands up in the air, alarmed and dismayed. At her. “Mom!”

“You won’t leave this room except for work. You will have cleaning detail. I know how you love to clean,” she said, smoothly. Trying to stand firm when all she wanted to do was yank him into her arms, checking him for damage. He was thinner than the boy he had left as; but he looked unharmed. She couldn’t hide her relief.

“Fuck that,” he said, using his superior height to tower over her. “If any of your story is even real,” he scoffed. She stood her ground as he looked down with a sneer at her. “Fuck doing anything for a fairy boy.” He grinned, dark and humorless. “So what? Is the king your...lover?” It was a curse; a taunt. “Is he the reason you left Dad?” He paced, his vitriol constant. “Fuck that shit. I won’t do anything you say. I’m an adult now--”

She felt the angry breeze whip her hair, pushing Jason back from where he had pressed her against the wall in his rage. Back to the edge of the mattress she had initially found him sitting on. He sat, his eyes wide as he stared behind her.

“Fuck...” her son said, inhaling the smell of ozone and darkness. Jareth came beside her, his face raw with disgust.

“Your tongue, dear boy,” Jareth said, no humor in his tone. “Contain your foulness. You are speaking to the Champion.”

Jason looked at her, his eyes wide. “Mom...he’s real.” Hushed and worried.

“Did you think your mother lied?” Jareth snapped at him. He gave a nod of his head, taunting with darkened eyes as he did so. “Welcome to my Goblin Kingdom.” He wore his black warrior gauntlets, his cape of shadow, and his eyes were marked with immortal branding. He looked fierce. Dangerous.

“I want Dad.” Quivering and looking to Sarah with a plea. More like her little boy, not the raging bull he had been a moment before.

Distaste filtered through Jareth’s mouth. “Your...dad,” Jareth said with a pointed pause, his words measured with memory and his own capricious nature, giving his opinion without revealing much at all. “You should be thanking your mother instead of using force against her. That show of useless power, my dear lad, will only be adding time and consequence to your sentence.”

Jason mumbled. “What do you mean?”

Sarah let Jareth talk. She trembled, and she tucked her unsteady hands behind her back to hide them. Her son had changed, even more so, in the time he been abroad. He had always been volatile, prone to hysterics, but he had never used his strength and size to bully her before. Jareth caught her eye and got her acknowledgment to continue.

“You will be under the administration of my general, Lord Erfeldt. He will command you each day as to your duties. Training for battle, chores as your mother entailed--”

“Screw that! I’m not listening to you, Fairy Boy, or to your fairy general.” He found his voice, ignoring the warning given.

“Jason,” Sarah said, gasping at her son’s choice of words.

Jareth strode before him, examining him like an ugly bug on a stick. His sneer was dangerous, and for a moment, she feared for her son. But despite his actions to the contrary, she trusted Jareth with this. She had proven she was not adept at managing her own child. The thought filled her with dismay.

“You will never use your puny human force to cower your mother again, nor that foul instrument of your tongue to berate her. She is your matron. Honor her, or you will pay.”

Jason nodded, sniffing distastefully. He looked at his feet. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Too bad,” Jareth snapped. “You were saved from death. Just be lucky I don’t decide to give it to you now—a present, you might say—and to feed you to my goblins.” He grinned, a lethal smile. “Or to my fairy general.”

The dark haired male snapped his head up, unsure, not able to read Jareth. Sarah stifled a choke; Jareth could be frightening, and she inwardly thanked him for his intrusion.

Jareth held out his arm to her. “Champion.”

She took it, giving one last glance under her lashes at her child. The king pulled her away, giving one last parting warning to Jason. “Tomorrow. Dawn. Amr will come for you. Be ready.” Then he swept her from the room, leaving in the shift of shadow he had come in on.

*****

Sarah crossed her arms about herself as Jareth contemplated her silently, standing near her while in his chambers. “I want to thank you,” she said. He nodded, still quiet. “I...” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I had always assumed, wanted to assume, that Jason’s father was the root cause of his being spoiled.” She murmured to herself, shaking her head. “I can see that is not the case. We are both to blame.”

He leaned against the wall, facing her, his eyes fascinating jewels of sparkle as he looked at her. “Tell me about him.”

“Desmond?” He inhaled, nodded. She sighed. “I loved him.” Jareth stiffened, but she continued as if he had not. “I met him my first year in college. He was already a senior, working for a law firm in New York City. I wanted to impress him, so I told him I wanted to be a lawyer, too.”

“You fulfilled that statement.”

“Yes,” she said, hesitating. “But it wasn’t my first love. Not initially. I wanted to be an actress, like my mother.” Jareth watched her, his eyes bland. He knew that about her, of course. “Then, the idea grew on me, and he helped me get an internship, just before he asked me to marry him.”

“You didn’t wait to have a baby.” His jaw clenched, the tic in it pronounced.

“No.” She shook her head. “Though I should have been more prepared.” She shrugged. “Jason was a bit of an accident.” She gasped at the admittance. “But I was pleased,” she assured. “I wanted to please Desmond. He’s always doted on our son.”

Again, Jareth cringed. Sarah smiled, thinking of the past. “He was such a precocious boy. Always getting into things. He knew how to play us against the other, I guess.” She swore. “I have been a fool.”

He stepped forward, taking her elbow. “Not a fool. A mother in love with her child.”

“I was wrong. I coddled him.”

“Yes.”

She winced. “I coddled him and he hasn’t learned to respect us. That is on his father and I, I know.”

“Sarah,” Jareth said, soothing while he acknowledged her words. “Jason will grow up here. He will learn to be a man. Amr will make sure of it.” He raised an eyebrow. “I will make sure of it.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Jareth.”

He grinned. “Thank me after you see your son day in and day out cursing you for bringing him to my kingdom. Don’t think he won’t.”

She laughed. “I will be glad to hear him curse if it makes him grow up.” Her smile faltered. She looked at her clasped fingers, at the ground.

He grew serious again. “Why did you,” he contemplated his choice of wording, “Leave him?” He didn’t say husband...but she knew by his cringe that is what he meant.

“I didn’t,” she paused, amending. “Or rather, Desmond insisted that I leave.” She shrugged. “I didn’t fight him. I wanted to go.” Jareth cringed at her tone. She folded into herself. “It was a long time in coming. He had never been faithful. We stayed together for Jason.”

Jareth nodded, listening to the unspoken behind her words. She said, “I stopped loving that man a long time ago. I thought he was my prince charming. I was wrong about that, too.”

He wiped a tear from her cheek, then pulled back, letting her muse. She continued, “At least I had my career. It might be all I have left now, anyway.”

He shook his head. “No. Not all.”

She snapped her head up, but he remained aloof. Carefully so.

“I don’t know how I got here, but if it helps my son improve his behavior, I’ll be glad of it,” she said. “I’m not a homewrecker, Jareth,” she said, her voice quiet. “I don’t want to be the cause of anyone’s failed relationship, not after mine.” She sighed. “But maybe I stepped right into that role, after all.”

“I don’t care what you think you know. It’s wrong,” he spat.

“Ain--”

“I don’t want to talk about her.” He nudged her chin up with a forefinger. “And I don’t want you to chastise yourself into nothingness.”

“You command me?” she said, teasing, though her voice was tense.

He smiled. “If you wish.”

She leaned forward after a brief debate with herself, kissing him lightly on his cheek. “I wish.”

Jareth smiled, his eyes bright. “For you...anything, my sweet.”

She pulled back. “Jareth?”

He sighed, as if the world weighted him. “Hmm?”

“Did I do the right thing?”

She meant leaving her husband. She had to hear it; she had to know. He contemplated, his face pale. “You thought you did, I’m sure.”

She nodded, slowly. Her own face wan and peaked. “I would go back, maybe. Fix things. Make them better...”

Jareth brought her to him, kissed her warmly, his answer obtuse. “You already are.”

*****

Chapter Eleven

Two days later, Amr slammed his way into Jareth’s small study and crashed on the chair by the fireplace, disgust in his voice. “That child,” he said, “Is a menace.”

Jareth quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Don’t play obtuse. You know who I mean.”

“So fix it. That’s what he’s being trained for.”

Amr grew a cunning glance. “You are more proficient in warfare than even I. Perhaps--”

“Sarah would resent me if she knew what was really going on. She and I are making headway, I think, and I can’t jeopardize it.”

His general sighed. “Pity. The boy takes after you. Headstrong. Bitter. You know the type.”

Jareth grinned. “I do. Reminds me of myself at that age. What a monstrous fellow I was.”

Relaxed for the moment, Amr gave a snarky smile back. “I do. I’ve had to put up with you for ages. At least one of us is mature.”

Jareth became tense, the thoughts on his mind weighing. “I don’t know if I can make it better.”

“You’re trying. That has to count for something.” Amr flicked a tuft of mud and grass from his boot onto the floor. Jareth frowned and the general smirked. “Giving the whelp something to clean.” He added, “The Champion has been rather quiet.”

“She has.” Jareth stood and went to the window, looking out onto his land. “It worries me.”

“Does she know?”

Jareth didn’t turn. “No.”

“Don’t you think you should tell her?”

He was given a long cool look. “Not now.” He peered back out the window. “It would ruin everything.”

*****

Jason gritted his teeth as another swinging blow came at his body. Damn these fairy men to all high hell! He fell to his knees. Amr stood to the side, watching, boredom in his face.

“Again,” the general said.

Another blow. Another fall to his knees. Jason puffed out air of misery. He was hot, and sweaty, and tired. And sick sick sick of it all. He glared at his opponent who stood waiting patiently until he rose to his feet again.

Jason swiped at the blood on his lower lip, dripping to his jaw. He said to the taskmaster, sarcasm biting into every word, “What? I’m not good enough for you to take me on yourself?”

A flat answer. “No.” Then, “Again.” He directed the man that had brought Jason to his knees four times already.

But Jason didn’t rise to his feet. He was tired of being abused. Pummeled to an inch of his life, all for a supposed punishment.

“Stand, weakling.” The voice behind the face-guard came out muffled. But the disdain stood out loud and clear.

“Or what?” Jason said, snide. “You’ll hit me again? Must be nice, taking on someone you think is weaker than you, fairy boy.”

Amr’s eyes flashed at him, then mellowed for his minion. “You,” he directed at the warrior with the steel-tipped lance in their hand. “You can go. Shower and rest. We are done for the day.”

The warrior barked out harsh condemnation at Jason. “Apparently.”

Jason glowered. If he could rip that ugly leather from the damned face and see who faced him, he would. But they were no doubt afraid to face him, to face his rage. His hatred.

A chuckle came from the warrior, testing his perilous mettle. How dare the fairy laugh at him. Didn’t they know he was rich, and handsome, and supremely intelligent? He had honors across the board. Women flocked to him. Men scurried to do his bidding, followers and--

The hood whipped off, long dark hair flying out from its braid. A girl. The general had Jason fighting a woman. His mouth dropped.

“Like what you see?” the young woman said, her voice bartering with venom. She was beautiful; lean with a warrior’s toned form, and the prettiest face Jason had ever seen. He remained silent.

“Linia,” the general said, his voice weary. “You have done well, as always. And you are clearly stunning the man before us into blessed quiet. However,” he said, pride in is voice, “Do him a favor and retire for the day.”

She smirked. “Gladly.” She moved to the dark haired man’s side, leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. She turned to Jason briefly, whose eyes were widening at the apparent age difference between the girl-warrior and the general. Lovers? Jason frowned.

The woman—Linia, smiled. “I will see you inside...” She continued her smirk, baiting Jason. “Father.”

Amr nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, not noticing or not caring about the fluster she caused. Jason fumed even while he watched the woman-warrior stride away. How had he not noticed that the swinging hipped woman was the one that had been ramming an instrument of death at him for days on end? He sneered at the general.

“Your daughter’s a warrior?” He grunted, making the words a wound. “It sure seems like someone wears the balls in the family.” He insinuated...not the men.

“Linia has enough skill and experience in battle that you should consider it an honor she accepted to teach you. You would be dust on the ground if I let someone else do your training.”

“Why?” said Jason, shooting back. His gaze hinted at the reason he couldn’t bring himself to mention. It only bore badly on himself. Because a woman is seen as weak…

Amr snorted, knowing the direction of his thoughts. “Hardly. Because unlike some of my men, she has compassion. Which, human,” he said, stressing the term. Derogatory in nature. “Is quickly wearing thin.”

“What do you plan on doing? Have your sperm donation--”

Amr’s face darkened. “Enough! I have handled many cowards and miserable beings in my time, but you are sorely testing the limits of my patience.”

Jason flared, picking up the lance and stabbing forward in a lunge. Missing. Falling to his face as the general swiped behind his leg with an easy stroke, sending him to the ground. The dirt was damp with sweat and blood. And shame. He had never felt like such a failure.

“Get up,” the warrior said, his voice tight. Carefully soothing. A kiss of death, worn with easy caution. “If you want to do battle, get up.”

Jason rolled to his side, afraid and hoping he didn’t let on. The general had twenty pounds of pure muscle on him, plus years of training, on his side. He gagged the earth, fuming and bitter. The king...the king had done this to him. His mother’s lover. He knew it, hated it with every pore in his body. Hated her. Hated them all.

Amr kicked his side, just enough to nudge. But it hurt. “Get up, whelp. Get up and face me like a man.” The general cocked his head to the side, waiting a long moment, an amused smirk on his face. “I thought not.”

He strolled away, tossing direction over his shoulder. “Shower and change. You are wanted at dinner.” The older man waved his arm at a soldier standing near, ready to take Jason back to the castle.

Jason rolled to his feet, bone-tired and sick. He would make them pay. One day, when he was strong, he would unleash his fury.

Let them see how weak he was then.

*****

Chapter Twelve

Ain dismissed herself from the dinner Jareth had planned. Even as it commenced, only the general and his daughter, his Champion and her son, were in attendance. No one spoke. The patter of silverware against china, and the slight huff as food was brought to lips and swallowed, sounded.

Amr and Linia wore their swords to dinner. A precaution against the prisoner that sat in their midst. It was for him that Jareth had the dinner. He had to see for himself how the boy would react when faced with his mother again. It needn’t have mattered. Jason ignored her. Sarah darted quick glances to her son, pleading with silent agonies.

Jareth cringed. It wasn’t often he miscalculated. This time, he had.

“Sarah,” Jareth said, turning his attention to her, the dinner in its midst. Quietly slow and solemn. “You haven’t said a word since yesterday.” He wanted to give her time to acclimate, to see her son as he was. He was a fool. But he was a wily fool. She pressed near, even as her mind retreated.

One day he would have all of her. Then...then.

His voice hushed near her ear. He held a wine glass delicately in his palm, but his fingers were tight, unyielding, as they spread over the crystal goblet in his hand. He set the glass down before he crushed in into his flesh.

Her face, pale and wan. Hurt. She glanced over at her son. She pressed her lips together.

The dinner was a bad idea. Jareth took her hand, held it as he smoothed his fingers across her knuckles. Jason cringed.

Jareth fought against his inclination to take Sarah from the room, to show them all who had her by his side. Who she served. Who she wanted to be with; who she chose, even as she fought the pull. Mind, body, soul, heart. His.

He whispered in her ear. “Don’t let anyone get to you, my Champion.”

It was a warning and a promise of intent. He would make the offending member pay for bringing pain to her. But Sarah, she had to fight. She was no good to herself if she caved into the threat.

He glared at the young man, feasting on the wine and the second course of the dinner. Inhaling the food and drink as if it were his last. Gluttonous. And not only with the meal—with Sarah. He demanded her. Her time. Her energy. Her penitence for making him pay restitution.

The boy couldn’t win this silent battle. Jareth didn’t share. He conquered. Jason versus the king. The whelp needed direction, a firm hand. Jareth had to be the one giving administration. Sarah had nearly given up under the flare of her son’s condemning eyes. Under the bashing of his quiet, mocking reproof. A mother scorned.

Tears blurred in her eyes. “I...” She stopped, alarmed. As if she were afraid any word would sent her son away. Jareth frowned.

“He’s not going anywhere, my sweet.” His eyes narrowed on the boy. A whelp. Someone who had barely lived, not as the king had lived. An immortal span of time.

She murmured, hair falling in her face. She hadn’t pulled it back. It shadowed her face, hiding her. “I just want him to be near. I...” She stopped again, looked at Jason and then to Jareth, whispering her truest confession. “I can’t forgive myself for what I’ve caused.” Then, a deeper truth. “He is not what I wanted him to be.”

A rebel. A curse. A blight on the family. No, she would have fought wars to avoid it. But it had happened, and Sarah needed to face it.

“You meted the punishment necessary. Don’t fall under his...” he said, sighing. His gaze resting on the dark-haired youth. “Charm.” His eyes narrowed. Yes...charm. An inherited disposition, it seemed.

She snickered, the sound making her wince. “You know as well as I do that Jason is,” she paused. “Difficult.”

“Yes,” Jareth scorned. “Like a child. Like a rebellious misfit. Don’t give in.” He hissed the final implorement. “He wants you to. He wants you to bow under.” Jareth looked at the boy, who in turn glared at him. Jareth smirked, raising his glass. Jason cowered under his stare.

“I just want him to be alright,” she whispered. “He has blood on his face.”

“He didn’t bathe. On purpose,” Jareth stressed. “He wants you to pity him.”

“Why is there blood on him?” Her voice, hesitant. Enthralled. She dared a glance at her son, who sassed back with a pointed sigh of disgruntlement. Looking at her hand entwined with the king’s. In disgust. Jareth squeezed on her hand tighter. Mine...

Jareth said, bland, even as the swallow of wine stuck in his throat. “I imagine Linia used him to prove a point.”

“Linia.” Sarah looked up through her waterfall of hair to the warrior-woman at Jason’s side. “She is beautiful.”

“And dangerous.” Jareth nodded. He winked at her. “Though Jason is in agreement. See how he flushes when she raises the glass to her lips.”

“Are they?” Together… She couldn’t help being frail. Her son had connived to break her. She was under a spell. A mother-crush of guilt, weighed rock, heavy on the chest.

“No.” Jareth shook his head. “She despises him. He is no warrior.” He added, musing, “But he could be. If he so chose.”

Sarah snorted, her face brightening. “Warrior, Jason?” She peeked a glance under her lashes. “Do you think?”

“Yes. And it would serve him well, the discipline.”

“I should have given that to him, all these years, letting him get away with what he wanted. I thought I was loving him. After…” She paused, her face composed with memory. A memory faded and obscure. Jareth paled, gripping her hand so tight their combined fingers turned white. She squeezed back. “I can’t recall exactly. It seems important, but...”

Jareth relaxed. Her memory would be his failure. His repentance.

Her body stiffened, then released its heavy burden. Even as Jareth pushed his away, the beast of remembrance. It was not time. He looked at her, the woman that escalated his fire, the woman that became a fitted match to his flame. He didn’t want to lose her. But perhaps it was not for him to decide.

Sarah took a sip of the wine, her first of the evening. Her back braced against the chair, lean with caustic hope.

“Jason,” she said, turning to her son, speaking with clarity. With boldness. With reprisal. With Jareth’s backing holding her aloft. “I want you to continue the training you have started.” She continued, her voice softer. “Until it is deemed fit for you to stop.”

Linia bowed her head at Sarah, tipping the glass up in salute. Jason fumed, his face going flush with anger. “Mom!” he said, his voice tripping with plea.

Sarah stiffened. She composed herself, a full minute of silence gone by. “I think it’s good for you.” She pressed on, her face calm. Jareth saw the heart of her. It burned. She added, “Your trainer is improving you.”

“Like hell she is,” Jason said, baring a glance at Linia. At Amr, who sat quietly watching, his hand on his weapon at his side. “She’s beating the shit out of me.” He waved a hand over the face he had not washed. To taunt. To cajole.

“Impressive that you acknowledge it,” Linia said, cooing at him. Her eyes flared. “And I will continue to beat the shit out of you, as long as my king and the Champion demand it.”

“Champion.” Jason hissed, standing, his chair scooting back with a squeal. “My mother is a lawyer, rich. Celebrated for her victories. At home,” he stressed. “Where we belong.” He hissed, his face screwing up into ugliness. “Not a whore for the king’s pleasure.”

Jareth raised to his feet, his eyes flashing. “Enough!” He tossed a glance to Sarah, who had whitened again. “My Champion has power you cannot even begin to discern. You will respect her. You will respect the crown.”

Jason glared at Jareth. “Fuck. You.”

Jareth sighed, a great upheaval filtering through his system. He flicked his fingers. Jason was gone.

Sarah whispered. “Where--”

The answer, pained. “In his room. If he cannot be civilized, he must remain prisoner.” He sat, his body condemning him. “I thought.” Jareth paused. “I hoped...”

Linia and Amr stood, quietly departing. Sarah flicked a glance at them. Her eyes gleaming with sorrow. She whispered, her voice tight. “You did the right thing. I am sorry.” She took a deep breath, if she wanted to say more. But she didn’t.

“He is winning, Sarah. Don’t let him. Jason is his own worst enemy now.”

“My fault.”

He examined her. Took her hand where he had dropped it in his haste. Squeezed it. “We will make it better.”

She looked at him, a glint in her eye. “Will we?”

“I swear it.”

Jareth ruminated the promise. He had hidden truth from his Champion. When she discovered his lie, she may leave. And she may never come back. It was a threat he had to carefully sift. To caress the murky metal from the shining gem. He still hoped. He wished. The hand squeezing him also tugged at his heart, at the black hole that had been there in her stead. Sarah had returned. The shadow that he became, deep within, elongated. Removed its silky presence. She could be the death of him.

She could be his salvation. For once, he wanted to be hers, as well.

*****

Sarah excused herself from Jareth. She couldn’t eat. Food tasted like the leather of hide in her mouth. Dry and withered. Jareth took the blame, shifted it onto himself, but she knew… She lost, both her son and the battle that had raged when she took him from Desmond. Jason had become his father. Prideful, stubborn, hateful when confronted.

She cringed, a displaced feeling crowding her. Remembrance—she had forgotten the pain, the agonies of being a single mother. And forgotten… she frowned. She forgot something, something exquisite and beautiful and disturbing at the same time.

The passing whim etched into her. Tantalizing. Staying just an inch away from recalling everything. She turned the corner. Stopped.

Ain stood there, a tray of food in her hand. The woman smiled, welcoming and kind as she had always been. Sarah smiled back, but unsure. She had never been alone with her before.

Ain gestured to the food, her eyes bright. “I am taking this to my son. Do you want to come with me to visit him? He speaks of you.” The message was clear in the bland invitation. You are not wanted. Stay away...

Sarah debated. Her throat congealed like a bitter pill to swallow. She was the other woman. She was the wrecker of dream. She shook her head.

“No, but give him my hello.” Silence. Tense; an uneasy lurching of breath, caught in tangle like spider silk. Ready to catch and devour, the hungry spider resting in her web, staring with beady watchful eyes.

“I will.” Ain didn’t move. “I am glad you came, Sarah of the Labyrinth.” The woman cocked her head, examining her. Her eyes shallow with a tinge of warmth. Not for her, but for the kill. Creeping, creeping. Slowing to bite, the arachnid.

“Thank you.” She flinched. She hadn’t heard the term spoken so plain. So defiant. Sarah of the Labyrinth. Perhaps Sarah had belonged once. Not now, in the capacity she fulfilled.

“My fiance spoke of you often. He was not the same when you left.” Sarah, the other woman. The thief. The destroyer. The one that will never win.

“I’m sorry.”

Ain shrugged. “I am glad I was able to pick up the pieces. It took some time before the king trusted me. But as you know, we have a son.” Warning, warning to stay away. To retract emotion. To never feel again.

Sarah nodded, her chest tight. Ain continued, her voice deceptively light. “I will do anything for Jaren.”

“I understand.”

Ain tilted her head. “Do you?”

“I am a mother also.”

“Yes,” said with a slow release of breath. “I heard.” Ain smiled, that soft, seductive tease. She gestured up the hallway. “He is waiting. I must go to him.” She perused Sarah, her eyes mysterious and dark. “Take care, Champion. The king won’t allow himself to be vilified again.” Entitlement, duly earned. A stamp of ownership, filtered into the easy transaction. Sarah’s lips pressed tight. She nodded. Yes. She knew.

“I’m glad we are in accord, dear Sarah.” Ain sauntered away. It wasn’t until she turned the corner, gone from sight, that Sarah breathed again.

Ain was not so forgiving, after all.

*****

Chapter Thirteen

Jareth had been reserved in his lovemaking since Jason had come to the Underground. At night when he wrapped his arms around her in his sleep, not letting go, and when his reassuring hand squeezed with hints of affection, were the only times he became demonstrative. He never claimed to love her. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—claim to love him, though the thought filtered through her as easy as water through a sieve. If he just proclaimed, it would be simple. But Jareth had never been a simple man, and she supposed, she was not a simplistic woman.

She let her body sway into him. He was asleep, for hours already, his breathing light and steady. His fingers clutched and unclenched in his rest, like a giant cat that kneaded her skin. She wanted to fall into the peace of Morpheus, the quiet of night surrounding her, the castle long out for the evening. But even in this, she resisted.

Every night she dreamt. Fascinating details of her life in the Above, scanty illusions of life in the Underground. Dreams that weren’t real, only craving. Mirage painted with the cost of her breath and the sweat across her body. She awoke dizzy and distracted, where even the heavy arm across her stomach couldn’t compel her to feel safe.

Jareth’s hair was soft against her cheek. He braced against her, and she relaxed further into him. So easy. It would be so easy to just let go, to let him consume her. Nights of passion, days of being by his side. So very...easy.

In the falsehood that became her night-imaginings, two things reigned in her mind; the juxtaposition of being a lover and a wife... The horror of betrayal. Sometimes the dreams played out conjointly; other nights they scattered like the autumn leaves on the ground outside the castle. Never to meet. Never to do more than blow with the stiffened wind.

A dance. A ring. A scream of pain. The battery of trust, once invoked by the seal of faith. She felt the heavy scald of tears leak down her cheeks. No matter how she tried to wake before the images invaded, she always failed. They burned into her, a brand of shadow. A puissance of the soul; a reviling scab of the mind, torn away until the raw skin underneath showed.

Morning came. She hadn’t slept...this night. Unlike the ravenous remembrances of nights past.

Jareth shifted. She felt the flutter of his long eyelashes flicker against her shoulder blade, then his mouth, pressing lightly across the skin. Kissing away the wound of her ravaged night, as if he knew. She pretended to be asleep. After a full minute of chicanery, Jareth sighed and rolled away from her. To his feet, to the wardrobe where she could hear him shrugging on a pair of trousers.

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his socks and boots. Stood again to select a shirt and to button it. She knew all his motions. As with every other morning, when he made as if to love her flesh, and when she dutifully avoided him.

He would tire of her. And then, she would leave. Unrepleted. Sorry with herself, but gone.

“I know you are awake, Sarah.”

A whisper. A hope for her to roll over. To face him. But she was a coward, a queen of misery. A temptation that reeked of destruction and reviling, baiting him. Never letting him win.

He leaned over her, brushing her hair away from her shoulder. He kissed her flesh, a caress of canine and soft, open wetness: to warn and to ignite. Her eyes remained closed. Just a little longer and he would leave. She could feel his frustration. He contained the sigh that seemed propelled to escape from his lips. He jerked the covers over her, half-rough in his devotion.

“Get up when you choose.” He didn’t attempt any further affections. “Your bath is drawn, so you might want to reconsider staying abed, unless you like having the servants see how you try to avoid me at all cost...even at the expense of a hot soak. Enjoy your precious time alone, my sweet,” he said, his tone edging on viciousness, “For today we plan the banquet for my courtiers.”

She dreaded this day and those that would follow after. The next two weeks were going to be spent analyzing seat lists and music and food-stuffs. She had no experience in these things. She was a lawyer, not a socialite.

She sat up with a bolt as he made to leave. “Jareth!”

He didn’t turn and he said nothing. She had the covers pulled up over her body, to hide like a child from the dark. “I can’t.”

Be with him. Trust him. Leave…

“You will,” he said. His voice, sad. Alternately, angry. You will obey...

Then he strode from the room, her eyes helplessly focused on his muscled back. He never turned back around, never to see the slaughter of her emotion, written in tombstone over her face.

*****

The bath has lost its steam when she removed from the bed, her face lined with frustrated tears and her hair a tangled mess. She washed quickly, dressed and left, shutting the door of his bedroom behind her. Tiptoeing the hallway as if she were a stranger in an unwanted place.

Jareth expected her in the library by now. She made her way through the corridors, turning each corner with a sinking heart. She may have pushed him too far. Her steps slowed. Stopped. She swallowed the indigestion from her stomach as it burned up her narrowed throat. So thirsty, but to go into the library where the breakfast would be laid out and the king waiting, seemed too much. She turned, half-running in the opposite direction, not looking.

Her eyes cast to the ground, each step a burden. She slammed into Amr around the next bend.

“Whoa, whoa, Champion,” he said, straightening her. His voice tense. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting the king.” Not a question, a condemnation in his voice for her fear.

“Please give the king my apologies.” She stiffened her jaw, though her words begged. “I can’t meet with him today.”

“I will not. Tell him yourself.”

She paused, weighing him. Finding him as lacking as he found her.

“You hate me.” Her voice wobbled.

Silence.

“Why?” she asked. Defiant. Ruthless, as he was with her.

His eyes darkened, flickering obscurely at something over her head. Maybe the nothingness that surrounded her. “You fail to see what you mean to this kingdom. Your ignorance makes the king weak.”

“I don’t care,” she said, fighting the exhaustion. The misery of having no friends, not even the ear of the man who kept her, a prisoner of his bridled lust. A trophy for his wall.

“You will when it all falls around you.” He pursed his mouth. “Again.”

She startled. “I was a child.” Not fully comprehending his ire.

“Are you a child now?” Debating, as if she were.

“You title me Champion. If so, heed this message. I won’t be on display, not for the king, not for his kingdom. And especially for this banquet he sees fit to throw.”

Amr scoffed. “You don’t understand anything.”

“Tell me, then.”

The general screwed his face up. His handsome face, made ugly with his indignation. “He honors you, you fool. Let him have this. Just this, before you leave him again.”

“I don’t owe him anything.”

He gave a slow smile, not amused. “No. But unless you despise him and want to be cruel, you’ll oblige.” He stalked past her, tossing his venomous words over his shoulder. “I had nearly forgotten...Your reputation for cruelty precedes you.” Sarcastic, ruthless. He kept walking. And she was alone once more.

A small voice piped up behind her. “Don’t be sad, Miss Sarah. He’s always that way.”

Jaren. Sarah turned, pasted a smile on her face.

His voice chirped brightly. His face paler and his body thinner than the last time she had seen him, not even a week previous.

“How are you?” she asked. He held out his small hand to grasp hers.

“Fine. I missed you. I like having you for company. You bring the best games.”

Her smile grew, the darkness that surrounded her heart dissipating. “I have a new one for you. I can go get it, if you want.” She wanted a distraction, though to spend time with him was pleasant. She liked him. Even if Jareth had warned her about being around the boy.

Not her place...

Jaren shook his head. “Naw. Dad’ll be mad if you don’t spend time with him. He missed you.”

Her face flared. “Missed me?” It came out faint.

“Yeah. All the time you were gone. I shouldn’t know, but I hear things.” He laughed, a joyous cackle. “I hear everything… All around me, I hear.” He tipped his head to the side. “You can hear too, if you listen.”

She didn’t know how to reply, or even if she should. So she stayed quiet, letting him jabber. He rambled, a tumbleweed on the move, razored by his erratic musing. “Mother tells everyone that she will marry Dad. I know better. He’ll never marry her.”

“They are supposed to.” She said it lightly, reassuringly, as if they both needed to hear it.

“I listen. I know,” he said. “Dad doesn’t love her. He loves you.”

She whispered. Her heart had skipped, frantic and bleeding inwardly. “I think he loves your mother.”

“No.” Jaren looked innocent, but his words were not. “He only has to marry her.”

She responded carefully. “Your parents are adults, Jaren. No one can make them do something they don’t both want to do.”

He grew a mulish mouth. “I know, Miss Sarah.” He patted her arm, the child placating the adult. “Please don’t be afraid of what has to happen.”

“What has to happen?” She leaned down to face him, to be level to his serious face. She quirked a grin, as if what he said to her didn’t, indeed, frighten.

He looked behind him, nervous. At her; then back behind again. “I have to go. Nanny,” he said, shrugging. “She keeps a close eye on me so I don’t wander.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, even as he flared a smile of confidence. “Don’t be afraid. You will win.”

He bounded off. “You will win, Champion!” He giggled, trotting off to the hallway he had entered from.

*****

Chapter Fourteen

Jason’s hair plastered with sweat, with the dirt of the ground. With his own blood. In spite of these, he felt empowered. Triumphant.

“Good,” said Linia, wiping her own face with her sleeve. The pass made a swipe of dirt cover her cheek. Her beautiful face, now removed of that awful hood. “Again.”

Jason made to complain, but decided he would feel worse if he did so. Linia had the habit of battering him into the ground when he combated her. Which had its distinct perks; the slam of her body against his. Her lips hovering near as she breathed sharply. Inhale. Exhale.

He had never been a guy that liked the athletic types. He liked blonds. Curvy and sex-starved blonds that barely reached his shoulder. Linia’s head was near level to his own, her figure strong. Her mind a whip. He liked her; she tolerated him. That was unacceptable.

He held the sword in his palm, ducking another blow. He cocked a greedy grin as his parry met her leathered side. Strike two for Jason Patrick…

He snuck in a complaint. “Don’t you have normal weapons? Guns? Or something?” Not these infernal blades...

She stared at him calmly. “What are the use for weapons such as those?” She feigned right. He met her attack, step by cautious step. She grinned as he calculated against her.

“You know,” he said, exhaling quickly and gathering another dash of breath. “You don’t have to--” What he would’ve said dissipated under her scrutiny.

“Weapons such as those have nearly eradicated your world.” She sneered. “Bombs that destroy whole cities...” She sprung at him, her blade carefully balanced. “Guns that take out the vulnerable. That is what you wish for?”

He muttered, feeling foolish for mentioning it. “I guess not.”

“Here you will learn civilized combat.” She smiled, her face a chilly calm. She attacked, glorious. “And some not so civilized.” She swung her body around him, a ballerina in a circle, as she jabbed. Struck.

He took the hit, made one of his own. He grinned. Nothing better.

“This is like a game, a dance. We play together, or apart. But each can glorify in the mastery of it.”

She gave another graceful leap, a pointed stab towards his leathered chest. He rounded her, met the thrust of her sword. Bantered. Caressed with the tangle of steel. He breathed deeply; the exercise cleared his mind. Cleared the bane of his new life in this ancient kingdom. A life that was becoming normal. Real.

He understood. For once, he understood the king’s rationale. And his mother’s. Not even three weeks in, and he was stronger. His body defined and clearly muscled. His heart pounding at each parry, and skin working up a fine layer of filmy sweat. Justin knew he was rejuvenating. This kingdom, this world, was making him whole again.

He hadn’t felt close to normal in a very long time. He was starting to, though.

Linia stopped, her hair sweaty against her neck. Tendrils escaping to caress her cheek. Like a lover. Like he wished to caress her skin, her whole damned body, in fact. She was magnificent, more so because she could whip him into shape without hardly trying. His mind rallied with a speed he hadn’t expected to find in a sport—a war game—so supposedly backward.

“Okay,” she said, her face flushed from the exertion. “We rest for the day. Fine job.”

He hid a frown. He didn’t want to quit. Not when he was proving everybody that said he couldn’t fight, wrong. Maybe this warrior thing had its perks. One of them was standing in front of him, taking her hair out of her braid. It fell nearly to her waist, a dark inky color that made her dark eyes appear richer. Even when they held humor and not lust as they gazed upon him.

“Like what you see?”

He gulped. Yes. He did.

“You know, you don’t seem like such a whiny scab when you put in some effort.” Praise. And insult. How she managed to tangle the two…

She peered at him, her face bland. “You must have had some training in your land.” Another compliment. Gods above.

He shrugged. “Not training like this.” He added, “But I played lacrosse for years.”

She smiled. “Ah, yes. We call it the Triballa. The challenge of warrior to warrior.” She started away, her hips swaying. Her steps precise. “We should combat sometime.”

He grinned. “Gladly.” He knew he would beat her at his own sport. Nearly twelve years he had played, and he was good. He followed her.

He was starting to think he might follow her anywhere.

*****

Sarah looked out the library window at her son. “He looks happy,” she said to Jareth, who was poring over plans for the banquet. He did it on his own, no secretary in sight. Unless one counted her.

“Did you doubt it?” He frowned. Added a name; took it back off.

She turned toward him. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I guess I did.”

“He needed to grow up.”

Her voice petered out into near silence. “Yes.”

Jareth looked up at the sudden change in temper, his manner precise. His actions brisk, not alarmed by the distance she held between them. Not willing to let her accept the total downfall of Jason’s recent behavior.

“A boy his age sometimes needs someone else to give him training and guidance. Linia and Amr are up to the task.” Bland. Convincing.

She answered, quiet. “I really thought I raised him right. To be respectful. To be generous. He--”

“He is. You did all that. He is still young.” He looked up at her, eyes a fierce darkened blue. “Sometimes they fail. But most of the time, they win.”

She smiled, reassured. Turned back to the window, watching Justin follow after the general’s daughter.

“He likes her,” she said.

“I know.”

“Did you plan that, too?”

“No one plans anything with matters of the heart.” Jareth grinned. “But I try.”

She came near, resting her chin on his shoulder and her arms around his waist. “Thank you.”

He turned, took her into his embrace. “For you. Anything.”

Sarah frowned slightly. “I miss this. I’ve been--”

“You’ve been preoccupied. Understandable.” He kissed her, deeply and tenderly. She fought back tears. He could be so kind. He could be so cruel.

He released her, stepped back, his hands in his trouser pockets. She picked up the list, clearing her throat from where her emotions burned. “It’s rather long, don’t you think? I thought this was supposed to be a small gathering.”

He cocked his head, amused by her scrutiny of the paper. “It is. Lords, their consorts or favorites, some--”

She laughed, though it quickly became somewhat of a struggle to smile. The subject becoming painful at his careless acceptance of broken relationships. “I know what I am, Jareth.” Her voice a whisper. “Please don’t make me become someone you’ll eventually place on a shelf.” Like those women, when discarded...

It was the closest she had come to revealing her feelings. He rubbed at his chest, as if stabbed. “You are more than just my Champion. One day you will understand.” He whispered, in pain. His brow winced.

“You say that--”

“I don’t lie. Not to you.”

“What is the big secret?” she blurted. “Why can’t anyone just say it, already?”

He tucked her hair back behind her ear. “It’s not for me to say.”

“Oh?” Miffed.

“It’s for you to discover.”

She huffed. Moved away, taking a chair and sitting in it the way he did when relaxing. She eyed him, gaze narrowed, her mind clustered with many things.

He came near, stood in her shadow, fingering something in his pocket. He had been absentmindedly reaching in every so often to whatever he hid, all throughout the week. His mouth pursed, his gaze thoughtful. “Sarah.”

“Hmm?”

Her attention moved away from him, from his quiet askance. She liked the library. It was their place, somewhere Ain didn’t venture, not since the first night she had returned. And she had rather fond memories of many spots in the room. She would fight not to be discarded. Not to be--

His next words brought her back around again from her musing. “I have something to give to you. Something I hope you will wear.”

She straightened. “A present?” His first, to her. She brightened.

“Of a sort.” He shrugged, self-conscience. “It’s yours.”

He held out a hand and she put hers into it. He slipped a ring on her finger, a dark bluish-black gem, the entirety spanning the width of her third finger and from knuckle to knuckle.

“It’s beautiful.” She frowned. “And familiar.” Hushed.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple lurching. “Yes. It’s obsidian. Called Apache Tears.” He rambled. “I thought you might want to wear it...” He said then, so quiet she barely heard him. “...Again.”

“Why does this seem familiar?” Accusing. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. And Jareth didn’t take his eyes off her.

He sighed, the sound burdened. “Because.” He moved to the window. “It is.”

A ring. A dance. A scream of pain….

“Jareth--” She peered into the dark stone. And began to remember.

*****

Chapter Fifteen

The memories pummeled her, impaled her with fiery thought, with a reckoning that nearly brought her to her knees. She saw Jareth through the haze of her mind, his face pale. So pale, and fear in his eyes. She escaped into the darkness that wanted her--

A banquet. A masquerade. Masses of crowd, with masks of beast and beauty. The king’s courtiers. Her courtiers...

Sarah wore a gown of darkest blue, the shimmer of obsidian in its cords. The back cut to the hollow just below her waist, the length well above her knees. A dress for seduction. A dress made to bring war. It flattered her; swaying on curve, swaying and devouring. To feast upon the king’s callous, and tempestuous heart.

Her king. Her lover. Her husband. Her mate…

They would enter the ballroom as a twin; they would exit apart. The eyes of all upon them. The king in all his glory. The queen ready to give reproof.

Her body screamed. Her mind and voice followed. Traitor, traitor! She cast vitriolic spew, her lord, her lover, the other half of her heart. And he smiled and bowed his head, the gauntlet thrown in among the hungry crowd. He loved her battle; he loved her fire and brim. And he hated hated hated her for the wealth of power. The hungry magic that eased from her body, spilling back into his.

A gift. A tearing from his heart and soul and mind into hers. The core of the kingdom, of the Labyrinth. Hers.

Jareth took her in his arms as the music began. She protested as he drew her near, his hand on her neck. His hand on her thigh. That was the point of the dance. To hurt. To seduce. To lust, to persuade. Their bodies fought each other, hair grasped in hand and pulled pulled pulled, until the root pained with agony. He spun her. She clawed at him, the battle on the floor and in their hearts.

Betrayer. Soul-wrecker. Two sides colliding, the past succumbing to the haunt, the cry of hurt heart and bitter sorrows. He claimed to be her master; she claimed to be his. Neither would win.

The king’s jealousy, a tangible thing. His eyes a burning condemnation for the power that superseded his. Champion. Lady of the Labyrinth. Queen.

They basked in the music, the pull of each other to the tempo time. Tantalyon; the Apache...the dance of lovers. Of those that hated, that consumed with rage. The battle of feet and lung and heart and soul. The battle of the king to his queen. The battle of the lover, and the dirge of death and destruction.

Liar. Seducer. Murderer of trust. For Jareth the Goblin King had taken another, flaunting her before his queen—before Sarah, his wife of many years. Before the courtiers and the kingdom, his jealousy over his mate, his twin side, his other, taking over the bond that corded them.

Sweaty with passion, sweaty with hate, the dance ended and so did the love that once flared upon them. Sarah, breathless, her eyes a burning flame, turned to her king. He smirked, that dreadful grin that held little repentance.

The stone on her hand, the ring of their devotion, she cast to his feet. Her insides ripped. Her mouth opened with agonizing scream. It hurt it hurt it hurt, the shredding. The tear of the cord that conjoined. She would be his no longer.

A curse. A condemnation. A promise… Her finger pointed at him, incantation on her lips. I remove myself from you. And you will never find me…

Jareth’s eyes opened, aware at last. His heart bled, as hers bled. She gave it all back to him, and he knew… She craved his understanding, for she spoke truth. He would never find her. She would leave. And the smile of retribution gleamed on her lips, the horror of twin-souls torn apart.

I will leave. And you will never find me...find me...find me…

His scream echoing through her as she took her soul, her body, her heart back to the world from where she had come so many years ago. Back to a cherished time. Back where she could rebuild and forget. Her hand clutching her belly, the life within kicking and turning and going still. So still.

Then a heartbeat as her child acclimated to their new direction. As she acclimated. Her world. A world without a crown, without the king, without the bond that had been shattered into infinitesimal pieces.

She would live, removed from the male that was hers no longer—the marriage dissolved. The bond irrevocably gone; the curse a bane. His child swelling within her; a life taken, a life given.

He would never get her back….

Unless. Unless. Unless….

Sarah’s eyes snapped open. She fingered the ring. Her breath caught, flared, within her.

“Jareth.” Her voice a wound. “What have you done?”

He whispered, his mouth near her ear. “I got you back, my tempting sweet. And I will never let you go.” His promise to retrieve her from whence she came. The obligation she made to hide from him forever and ever and ever. The bracketing of the love that had ceased to exist.

Fulfilled. Fulfilled. Fulfilled...

She opened her mouth to scream. But nothing came out.

*****

Jareth circled her. Predatory. Wary. Her eyes followed him.

“So, my sweet. You finally understand.”

She struggled a whisper. “Who brought me here?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I am pleased with it. Exceedingly pleased, my queen.”

“I am not your queen.”

“You became mine again once the ring touched your finger.” He grinned, sadly triumphant. “We had already completed half the bond.”

“You mean when we fucked.”

Her voice, tart. Hollow. So passionate their lovemaking had been; soul to injured soul. Heart to battered heart. Sarah swallowed her indignation. Her fury. The pain that came from deep inside her core, where her king-lover-husband-mate had stopped residing within, so long ago.

“Indeed.” He fingered his chin, observing her.

“You tricked me.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, I did no such thing. I simply gathered opportunity. You would do the same, my sweet.”

“I hate you.” A press of tight lips to a hand that reflexes to her mouth. Fisted.

The king, her king, smiled. A devilish, adoring, and emancipated smirked grin. “What are love and hate but two sides of the coin?” He took her cheek in his palm. “We have always shared it. You understand me as I understand you.”

“I don’t understand any of this.” Sorrowful. Angry. So very bitter...

He snapped. “You deny it, Sarah. But you comprehend exactly what has happened.”

Her eyes flickered. Yes, she understood. He had won. She had returned and brought his son, and he would consume her as he had always done before.

“What about Ain?”

The woman he had betrayed her for. Sarah had never been the other woman, after all. She was the rightful one; she had the stamp of desired ownership. For the king. For Jareth who refused her.

“She reserved the hole left behind.” Casual. Too carefully casual. He skirted the issue. He refused to concede. His eyes downcast, spent by her ire.

“You bastard,” Sarah spit. “A reserve? That is what you call the mother of your child?”

She couldn’t say Jaren’s name. That precious child. The child ripped of being heir as soon as Jason had come back to the Underground. When the queen and her king reunited in the unholy bond that was their love.

“Sarah.” Jareth dropped to his knees before her, his temper prostrate. His allure unbounded. “I love you. I adore you. I cherish you--”

“Before or after you proclaimed Ain to be your new fiance?” She twisted away from his begging. “Before or after you fucked her and cast me aside?”

He frowned. “I did what I had to do.”

It wasn’t an answer, and by the flicker of eye, he knew it. His face held its transparency. He believed; he thought he had done correct. He failed, as he had before.

“Why? Why her?”

He shrugged, his face growing in pallor from the venom in her voice. Let him suffer. She had suffered for so long. Even while in her Above world, she felt him. Wanted him. Craved him as he had always craved her. She had missed him, though her mind forgot what they had been.

“I...” He sputtered, the apology lingering on his lips but not forthcoming. He spit his reasoning into the air, the dark, fiery air between them. “I wanted to destroy you as you had destroyed me,” he said. Admitting his folly. Making Sarah fume as if time had not forgotten or forgave.

“You continued with her. Even after I left. And you impregnated her,” she said, tears blurring her eyes. Hateful, vengeful tears. Tears of loss. Tears of blame.

“Yes.”

His head bowed. A king broken before his queen. His mistress. The ruler of the Underground, the Keeper of the Labyrinth. The keeper of all magic of the land.

“My queen.” His voice humbled. “Forgive me. Please forgive me. I have suffered since you left--”

She hissed. “I wanted you to suffer!”

She breathed him in. Pain and sorrow and a bleeding heart. But could it be enough to sway her into forgiveness? She didn’t know.

His eyes faced her. Pleading. Begging redemption. “I will do anything to have your love return to me.” The words were stark. Honest.

She cringed. A shaky hand reached out to touch his hair, shorn from where Ain had decreed he cut it. For their lovemaking--

Sarah’s hand drew back. Trembling. She whispered. “I need time.”

“You have it. All of it,” he said, hope in his voice. “I will reorder it, make it better--”

“No.” She snapped the order. “No,” she said, softer and chagrined.

Forgiveness. They had never been able to let the other win gracefully. She reached for him, for his hand that shook for her mercy. Grasped it. Squeezed.

“Let us do this the way it should be done,” she said. The way it should always have been done.

He took a deep inhale. “Starting over.” His voice filled with expectation. With dream. “Yes,” he said, kissing her palm. Reverently. Abidingly.

Sarah stood. “Rise, my king.”

Jareth straightened. “Yes, my queen. Yes.” His voice a hiss and a fury. A dividing of want and hope and need.

She kissed his cheek. A kiss of ownership. A kiss of devotion and bowing under. A celebration of what could be. They joined, standing hip to hip, side to conjoined side and soul to soured soul. They would make it better. They had to make it better. The kingdom cried out for them. And they responded, heart to bleeding heart.

As one they left the library. To face the unknown. To face the demons they had left behind.

Coming face to face with their stumbling block. Ain, with Jaren’s hand clasped in hers. Her eyes a burning flame. Waiting. Watching.

Their tribulation. A demon of retribution. A mother ready to rise...

*****

Chapter Sixteen

Ain walked past them, gripping her son’s hand tight. “Hello, my love,” she said, brushing her body against Jareth’s as she slid by. Disappearing into another corridor. He said nothing, cringing, looking sideways at Sarah.

Apologetic. As if it counted.

Sarah said nothing also, moving forward in the hallway, Jareth following her back to his rooms. She entered, going to the wardrobe quietly. Removing items, folding them neatly.

Jareth stood before her, questioning, his hands limp by his side. “Where are you going?”

“I have rooms.” She divided her things from his. “I am going back to them.”

“They’ve been closed off.”

She snapped. “So, open them.” Her voice settled. “I’m not staying in here with you.”

He reached for her elbow. She slipped to the side, his hand missing her. “We’re married,” he told her.

“That’s never meant anything to you before,” she said, her voice tart. “Besides, I had no say in it, this time or the other.”

“Sarah--”

“No. Jareth, listen to me. I am leaving. Find someone else to warm your bed.” In spite of her bravado, the words came out weaker than she intended. She tipped her chin up. No weakness. Not ever again.

He growled. “I don’t want anyone else.”

“You should have thought of that before you picked Ain for the task.”

He ran his hand through his hair. The hair that bespoke of the relationship he had connived and left her alone for. She found herself staring at him, and he had the sense to flush.

She placed the clothing in a bag. Tied it up and placed it on her shoulder. “I don’t want to see you for awhile. Make yourself scarce. You’re good at that.”

“Sarah, I’m sorry. Please. I’m so sorry.”

“You say that. But I’ve seen evidence to the contrary.” She moved toward the door. Jareth didn’t stop her. His face paled, an ashen gray. She turned back to face him. “Mark up the agenda for the next month. Slip it under my door. I have a kingdom to run, and believe me, there are going to be changes made.”

She heard his teeth gnash. His jaw tightened, ground together. He had never accepted defeat. Well, neither would she. She had made a career of winning within the courtroom; maybe the victory had come because she had always failed within her own kingdom. Jareth made sure that he took control of everything previous, and she had let him. She had been young, at least to start, but the reasoning proved false. Now was the time for change. Now was the time to run her kingdom the way she should have when the power assumed to her.

Jareth hated to lose, but he had already forfeited. He made that call when he invited another woman to their marital bed. Not that they had truly shared it in the first place. He had never let her into his private boundary. This time, she was the one refusing him.

“Sarah.”

She didn’t face him. It would have been so easy to let him convince and sway. To think of the magnificent lovemaking they had shared in the past few weeks. A sham, all of it, from beginning to end. He knew what his actions would cause, and he hadn’t done anything to reveal his hand.

He implored. “I’m sorry.” His voice tight. “I’m going to prove it to you, any and every way I know how.”

She wouldn’t give in. Not now. Not ever. This time, it was her that slammed the door behind her.

*****

Jareth slipped the paper under her door as requested. Knocking, even the parade of his hand on wood sounding sincere. But he lied he lied he lied. And she ignored him, taking the paper and letting him stand outside her rooms until he saw fit to leave.

Which couldn’t be soon enough for her.

The rooms had been sealed tight. She found a servant to clean and air them out, even as she filled her old wardrobe with the clothing Jareth had made for her. Everything was made with his taste in mind. Sarah made herself a notation to have new clothes ordered, and as soon as possible. She wanted to burn the fabric he had plied her with; it was just another reminder of his cruel rule over her.

She looked around. The rooms were decorated in a wealth of pink and purple, lace and frills everywhere. Girlish. Childishly naive, just as she had been when first coming back to the Underground.

A year after her first visit, at sixteen, she felt the connection of the Labyrinth, strong and pervasive in her body. She continued going to school, to her after-hours theater group, and to hang out with her friends, but the call of the kingdom and her role as ruler, made her start to feel physically ill in ways she couldn’t understand or make go away. She couldn’t ignore it, and part of her didn’t want to. She was still a young girl in so many ways, in spite of her previous journey, in spite of all she had learned.

She called for the Goblin King, and Jareth had stolen her away to his land. As queen. As the girl that would rule by his side. Just as promised.

Her fantasies hadn’t recognized that he would ignore her after he had her in his world. That he would place her in her own quarters and leave her there, sulky and depressed, until she reached an age of majority. An age he could make her fully his queen.

Eighteen. Old enough to be a wife broken. And one of the few times he had come to her room, not to seduce, but to get his young wife pregnant. Sarah thought he loved her; the sex, his vow of devotion. He seemed fond of her—when he touched her, she nearly swooned. All a lie. He must have laughed at her childish reaction to him with all of his lovers.

She had cried into her lonely mattress that first night and the following times, when he did his business and dressed, leaving her alone. No love, no corresponding affection. Just duty.

She hadn’t told him when she suspected she was going to have his heir. By then they had been married for over a decade, human years. She tallied the number of times he had resigned to intimacy with her. She fingered her one hand. Just that, and no more. Even then he hadn’t wanted a child, but told her of his obligation to do right by his kingdom.

He had companions. Many of them. Then, she hadn’t understood. She did now.

So the tears came, each time he bedded her. And left after. Tears of pity that washed her face and soaked her pillow.

Sarah refused to cry over Jareth anymore. She wasn’t that child, and she wouldn’t fall victim to him again. He could have his companions. Ain, or whomever. Just as long as he remembered who the sovereign of the kingdom truly was.

Her.

*****

He had to face her. It had to be done, and it had to be now. He knocked, and the door opened quickly. Too quick. Ain had expected him.

“My love,” Ain said, her face glowing with beauty. She shut the door behind him, leaning against it, placing her body to advantage. “What brings you here to me? Did you miss me, perhaps?” She ran a finger down Jareth’s shoulder to his wrist.

He jerked back. “Hardly. What makes you think such a thing?”

She made a pretty moue of her mouth. “I recall a time we were most intimate.” A reminder, just in case he had forgotten.

Jareth felt his face grow warm. The memory wasn’t one of his kindest. He retaliated, going on the offensive. He knew better than to underestimate Ain of Merr.

“I was foolish. And now, only you are the fool for believing that I still want you.” His voice, bland. Caustic.

“It was not so long ago--”

He spat, his woefully defunct patience nearing its faulty end. “I remember. Just before I found out you were carrying my child.” They had...he had….

“I have been your companion--” She pretended to beg, not to understand his removal from her.

“For him. So he will not see his mother as all that you have become.” He continued. “And you were my companion in name only, so that a woman could be seen at my side.”

She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “All those social functions, and you never paled in your resolve. To be seen as almighty. The powerful king, surrounded by his bastion of women.” She smirked. “Even if it were only a role they played.” She said cheekily, “The Champion left you. You weren’t going to get her back by being celibate.”

He said nothing. The missile met its target, wounding. Celibate...that might have been true. After Sarah left. But certainly not before.

She came up to him again, running her hand up his side. Down again, near his groin. Stopping. His body clenched. He pulled away, but not before she had grasped him. Intimately cupping and painfully squeezing. He hid a sharp wince and yelp of pain.

“I remember our last time,” she said. “You were so powerful. So willing...”

He couldn’t refute her. He had been. And he had been half-crazed by that point, his guilt and his frustration mounting into a frantic plea. It hadn’t taken much wine and seduction for her to have him in her bed again.

“I was wrong.” Said so tight he felt he would explode from the force of it.

“Wrong?” Ain smiled, her body turned to him, thrusting breast and curved hip. “What is wrong if two people love each other?”

He barked. “I never loved you.” His ire plowed ahead. “I needed to fuck. You were there. Willing, and able. That is all.”

All those times, he had convinced himself of that. Then, later, when he had moved on, Ain found a way to gain him back. He told himself he hadn’t really wanted her; it made his deceit easier to bear. He said he hadn’t chosen to fuck. That was a lie, too.

She clucked her teeth. “You never should have taken a child bride. You know your appetite.” The last word, lush. Coy.

He said again, this time more painful than the last. “I was wrong.”

“You are telling the wrong person, my king. Your Champion is the one you have to convince.”

“And I will do everything in my power to do so.”

She changed tactics. He waited. Waited for her next move. Wary. Weary.

Her eyes flickered. “Jaren misses you.” She cooed, a disgusting display of mouth and tilt of chin. “I miss you.”

A reminder of what they had been. An instigation to drive him back. Even if screaming and clawing and dragging his full body against it, this time.

“I just visited my son.” Jareth stepped back, far out of the reach of her clutch.

“And now you visit me. How lovely.” She sidled up to him. He watched her motions carefully. “Is your Champion not keeping you distracted enough?”

He grinned viciously. “My wife has many things to see to. Including this kingdom.”

She paled. “You gave her the ring.”

“Indeed.”

She flung her hair. “She is bound to find out why you did so. And she will be angry.”

He knew. “As long as it keeps you from wearing it.”

“There was a time you promised it to me.” Her face a thing of cruelty. A facade of beauty.

“Did you give me a choice?”

She laughed. “There is always a choice. You chose poorly, I think.”

“With Sarah?” He smirked. “No. I choice wisely for once in my life.”

She studied her nails, buffed into tiny sharp talons. “I hear that your Champion...” She didn’t call Sarah his wife, her spite unconstrained. She continued, “...Has taken herself back to her old rooms. A pity.”

He remained silent. Ain had always had the backbone of the castle under her thumb. Including him. No more, no more.

He said, blunt, “I want you to leave.”

“Our child--”

“Is staying with me.”

Her forehead began to trickle with sweat. “He’s not well. To keep him from his mother--”

“We both know what a farce that is. And I repeat. You are leaving.”

Ain stomped up to him, flinging her hands into his chest. Pushing. “I know you think you are fixing things. You’re wrong! She will never forgive you.” A hiss. An incantation of wrath.

He repeated a third time. “You are leaving. Immediately. Be gone from my castle.” Frightfully calm.

“You can’t take Jaren away from me.” She suffered a sob. “He’s all I have.”

“You may visit him. Supervised, of course.”

Her anger came back full circle. “Damn you, Jareth! Damn you!” She rounded him, poking his chest, pulling at his arm. Pinching. Grabbing. “She returns and suddenly I’m the bad one. What about you? What about the king who took each and every opportunity to fuck whomever he chose?” She sobbed, peering under her lashes at him. “I was a virgin. You took that from me.”

He scoffed. “I forgot how easy it is for you to believe your own lies.”

She went quiet. Eerily so. Then she cackled, her mood transitioning once more. “You think you’ll gain repentance. You fool! She will never bed you again.”

His jaw clenched. He deserved that. That, at least, was truth.

He crossed his arms. “I tell you this one last time. Pack your things. You will be out of my home by nightfall.”

Then he turned to the door. “I will have you escorted out of the castle.”

“Where will I go?” she said, her voice a constant hiss.

He smiled. “I really don’t care.”

He exited. His relief felt like a knife had been pulled from his chest. Never again would the Lady of Merr have dominance over him. That honor was reserved for his queen…

*****

Chapter Seventeen

Jareth sat at the dining table, his head in his hands. Places had been set for many. No one but him had shown up.

“Feeling miserable, aren’t you?” said a male voice. Jason. He smirked. “I heard my mom dumped your ass.”

Jareth’s head lowered even further. “She did, indeed.”

“Bet you deserved it. She doesn’t just walk out on someone. She has to be forced out.” The dark haired man sat at the other end of the table, digging into the food that had been laid in front of his seat. Eating like a ravenous beast.

“Manners, Jason. This isn’t a trough.” Jareth flicked his fingers at him in absentminded distaste.

The eating stopped mid-bite. “Are you serious? Are you actually chastising me? After all you’ve done?”

Silence. Then the king acquiesced. “I’m sorry. I have lived my life telling others what to do.”

“Well, you can stop that shit. No one’s listening anymore.”

“No.” Jareth agreed. He whispered. “They’re not.”

After a long bout of quiet, Jason intruded his thoughts once more. “Well, if you want to fix things, you’d better make yourself beg like hell. And feel sorry for all that shit that went down.”

Jareth cringed, sinking lower and lower in his regal chair. He nodded, his face pale. “Very wise... for an infant.” Even as he said it, he knew he had made another callous mistake, flushing.

“I may not be an immortal bastard,” said Jason, standing, ready to leave. He turned and shot back over his shoulder, “But everyone, even you, deserves a second chance.” A near whisper. Not only speaking of the king. But for all that had failed.

He left. Jareth lowered the lights into near darkness, suiting his mood. His food, untouched. The wine, a burden on his lips. He filled the goblet again. Lowered it, the sixth fill not drank.

The boy was right. He had been obscene in his behavior. Uncaring. Selfish.

But damn it all… Hadn’t he started to prove that he was willing to change? He made Ain leave. Surely that meant something…

No. It meant nothing. Because Sarah had every right to demand whatever she chose from him. As the wife that had been injured. As the queen that ruled over him.

Misery beat and consoled. Jareth failed. His teeth gripped into vice. Unacceptable! Who was anyone to tell him what to do? He was king; a ruler in his own right. He had made the kingdom flourish. He had caused peace and prosperity in the land. Did that mean nothing? His hands shook.

No. Nothing.

With great bitterness and sorrow, his hands covered his face. Shaking, shaking with shame. With indignation! With hope…

Maybe. Maybe, she would forgive. Maybe he could prove his love. He had never loved anyone, not his fore-bearers, not his playmates, never his lovers, not anyone.

But Sarah...she was different. She saw him, she saw. Cruel, needy, advantageous. He was all things, and nothing. Nothing...nothing…

He wept for a long time. Wiped his face. Still alone in the dining room, no one to hear his sobs. No one to care. He had pushed and pushed and pushed the only one that may have cared for him, away. Sarah, his wife. His queen, his mate.

He served life with a supreme brutality, getting everything he wanted, anything or anyone he craved. He wanted Sarah, but...he wanted her to want to be with him. Willing and devoted in her pleasure. Just willing…

He forced it all upon her; the role of wife, the role of mate. She had no choice. The tears came back, a blur of need and worry and pain.

He pushed back his chair, weary. So very weary.

Jareth raised his head, focusing on the empty room, the lush tapestries that decorated the banquet room, the flowers. He stepped into the hallway, observing the cleanliness of it all. Ain had done all that; he had treated her abysmally, too. Though, perhaps, she hadn’t truly minded as long as she achieved her final desire. He pushed thoughts of her away. It was Sarah that mattered.

He wanted to be...broken, crushed into a million pieces and tramped upon. To feel static. To be forgotten. His purpose had eroded. He was a shell; a devotedly shallow and careless shell.

Self-pity tugged at him. Damn it damn it damn it all! His fist went into the stone. His hand, bleeding. His heart cast with inner flagellation. He moped down the hallway, down Sarah’s corridor, to her door.

His forehead rested against the solid wood panel. Cold. Unmovable. Like his mate.

He had heard that the marital cord, the transcendent bond that joined them, was supposed to be impenetrable. That mates could think the other’s thoughts and feelings. But with Sarah, there was silence. There had always been silence, from the very beginning, so long ago.

It couldn’t be all his fault. She was impossible! She dared to take her things and leave him. She dared…

The blood ran down his palm. Not healing; the pain in his soul making the wound fester until it burned. Let it burn. Let it pain. He pained. He hurt.

The tears came back, full strength and hot on his cheeks. He moaned. “Sarah. My Sarah...”

Nothing.

He sank to the stone floor, cold under his knees. If she just cracked open the door, he would woo. He would persuade. He would fall to her feet and give her anything she asked for.

He promised her anything. She tossed it back into his face.

Silence. Nothing.

His heart hurt. His heart bled like the wound on his skin. His side tugged, a lonely aching want that wished and dreamed and forgot everything. Cruelty came easy; repentance did not.

His eyes grew heavy. Sank. The floor his bride. The floor his companion. He had no other--

Amr woke him with a kick. His head hurt. His body ached. He felt sore in places he shouldn’t have from sleeping on the cold stone.

“Get up, my friend, before your Champion finds you drooling and smelling like a drunken sot, on the floor in front of her residence.”

His general made to pull his boot back for another chastisement. Jareth groaned and snapped, his head hurting. “Don’t. Even. Dare.” He stood. “And I am not drunk.”

“You’re loud, is what you are.” Amr frowned. “If you were going for stealth, you’ve certainly failed.”

“Not surprising.” He wanted to vomit. Or sleep. Or both.

His general placed a supporting arm around him as he wavered. Maybe he was drunk—or had been. He sagged. What did it matter?

The dark haired man said, “Come on. Let’s get you out of here before she opens the door and spews her self-righteous wrath on you.”

Jareth stopped. His face grew taut. “Don’t talk about your queen that way.”

Amr’s jaw went tense. “Fine.” He removed his arm. Angry. “Let’s see you stagger down this hallway on your own. You fool. Don’t lose it over her now.”

Jareth’s eyes narrowed. “You may be my only friend, but you are also my general. And I am your king.” He wobbled. “I strongly urge you to reconsider how you speak of your majesties.”

Amr grunted. He put a steadying hand on Jareth. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed to sleep off your misery.”

Jareth complied. For once in his life.

*****

Sarah heard. How couldn’t she? Her husband had crash-landed outside her door, waking her and probably everyone else in the castle up, too.

An hour passed. Two. Three...

She rolled over. Fisted her hand under her pillow and bunched it up around her ears. She didn’t want to even hear the remnants of his voice, branded in her brain like a scar. He disgusted her. But the tears that fell weren’t just for the misery she felt because of his lies and betrayal. They were tears because she still cared.

Deeply.

She had thought...she thought he might have felt something too. But she reminded herself that sex and love sometimes weren’t compatible. Maybe she and Jareth weren’t compatible. Even if their bodies were.

In the bed of her youthful aspirations, her inner child awakened. The girl that longed for him. The girl that looked out the windows and into the hallways, searching for him to walk by. To acknowledge her, to be the recipient of even a careless nod of hello. Those things had been enough to send her into ecstasies for days.

Back then...

She still felt that girl. But she had grown into a woman, removed from Jareth, his Arrogant Majesty. Removed from his glittery kingdom and all that he possessed. He wanted to possess her. And she had let him. No more would she be his slave. She turned forty in the Above, a mother, once a wife of a mortal man. She had lived. She wanted to live again.

She flipped over, naked under the sticking sheets. Her body, a rebellion. She remembered each kiss, each caress, each stroke of his body as it moved within her. And she desperately wanted to feel that again.

She sat up, tugged on a robe. Sheer, but down to her ankles, tied with a sash of satin.

The hallway was still dark as she paced down the empty corridors. Her thoughts pugilist like a boxer pummeling their opponent. Do it do it...no no no…

She reached Jareth’s door. Stopped outside it.

Do it do it do it--

She opened the door without knocking. Went inside the darkened room, her heart racing. Went to him…

He sat up, as if sensing her. They stared. Stared, each at the other.

He broke the silence, awe and hope and desire in his sleepy, smoky-deep voice. “Sarah.”

She stepped to the bed. Stood there, quiet. Reflective, her head cocked as she observed.

And then, she dropped her robe. Right in front of his startled gaze.

His eyes widened; his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. Inhaling her scent, pungently sweet in the air. He looked starved for her, instantaneous and obvious. Her arousal burst into a flooding want at the sight of his cock throbbing against his stomach, pre-cum already gathering on the tip. She eased onto the mattress, over him. He reached for her. She laid a hand on his chest.

“No.” She gathered strength. “I give you this, but with rules.” He nodded. She ran her finger along his chest and he shivered. “No touching, no talking. Not for any of it, not unless I tell you to. Do you agree?”

He nodded, his voice terse as he gave in to her whim, even as he demanded of her. “Bind me.”

She startled. “What?”

“Bind me. I can only hold to it if you tie me down.”

He lurched upward for her, stopping himself. Forcing himself back down with his jaw tight. It made her smile, devilishly and sure. She felt her body go sopping wet, deep in her core at his needy words. At his frantic, but complying action. She looked around, her breathing in staccato with her own heady and thrumming arousal.

“With what?” Do it do it do it--

He ground out, his teeth gritted, “Your sash. Now, Sarah. Please.”

She retrieved it from the floor, crawling back up over him, her body straddling his hips. Her wetness making him moist underneath as she soaked him with her lust. She tied him quickly, rubbing her tender spot against him as she did so. Grinding. Into. Him.

They both moaned.

She drew her body up over him, her breasts near his mouth. “My nipples,” she said. “Suck on them. Bite them.” His eyes flared. “And don’t,” she panted, “Be gentle.”

He growled. Complied.

Her head threw back. “My neck. Kiss it.” A whisper, etched out like frost on a windowpane, delicate and cracked.

He obeyed. She smiled, rubbing her body full-length against him. A cat filled with pleasure. A woman taking control. A woman climaxing and giving nothing back. He grunted, as if in pain, as if he were ready to disobey her commands. She caught his mouth under her own, biting on his lower lip. Drawing blood. Licking it away, even as she spiraled with her own pleasure.

She crooned to him, chastising. “No speaking, my dear king. You wouldn’t want me to become angry with you.”

His eyes flashed. Hungry. Frantic. He jerked up, his body nestling hers. His teeth gnashed, even as his spew lined her belly.

She reached for the blanket and wiped them down, lingering on his cock. He grunted deeply, a moan that caught in his throat and lived there. “Jareth,” she said, clucking her teeth. “I’m very disappointed in you.” A coy tease, for another orgasm was seconds away from washing over her. He was so good. This was so good.

He strengthened again, his body responding to her blatant touch. She ran her hand, fingers tight, along his length. His massive girth. All hers. Impaling herself. Moving slow, her hips gyrating against his loin, her head back. Her hair caressing his legs beneath her. She came, fast and hard. She made him wait, for when she felt him draw close, she removed herself. With glee. With giddy retribution. His eyes flashed.

She chided, taunting. “Speak my king. Tell me what you desire.”

He twisted his clenched fists, his eyes blackened and brimstone-fire. “I want to taste you.”

Sarah smiled, enjoying the taunt. The power over him. “Good answer.”

She brought herself to his mouth, and he licked and sucked and cajoled a fast and deep climax. Another one. With a greedy grin, she lifted herself from his lips.

“What do you want, my king? Tell me.”

His voice husky and deep. A glaring growl. “Let me fuck you, my queen.” He tugged at the sash around his wrists. Pulling, pulling, angry. Desirous.

She rose, untied it. And slid off the bed even as he made to leap on her.

“Thank you, Jareth, for giving me your due. A pleasure.” She placed the robe against her body, tying the sash that had held him bound.

He paled. His eyes burning as they looked upon her. Still with lust in his rigid body.

Sarah sashayed to the door. Her breath caught in her throat. She had been cruel. But she wanted...she needed...him. To acquiesce. To serve.

“You may finish on your own if you wish.” She opened the door.

He whispered behind her, still laying on the bed unmoving, his voice rough and hurting. “Is that what I made you feel? When I came to you--”

She stiffened, his words stinging more than she had thought they would. “Yes.”

Then she walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind her. It wasn’t until she was in her own hallway that the doubt and the shame and the fear set in. Sarah fell to her knees on the hard stone.

And wept bitterly.

*****

Chapter Eighteen

Jason lay with his hands tucked underneath his head, looking up at his ceiling. The room had grown on him. Since training each day with Amr or Linia, he found he had little time of his own. Which was just as well, since he wouldn’t have been sure what to make of it.

At home he had been a student. He admitted he didn’t apply himself much, but then again, he hadn’t needed to. The work came easy. So easy, he found that extra time he had not having to study to get into trouble.

Now he realized how much trouble he had been in. Saved from. By his mom and him.

He felt the buzz of the ever constant energy filtering around him. It had always been, but since coming to this kingdom, its presence had grown into a near tangible thing. It didn’t worry him. The feeling brought comfort, a feeling of security in this strange, strange world.

It was like when he had been a little kid, tucked into bed for the night. His dad would pop his head in, say something like, ‘Goodnight, Champ,’ or something equally as stupid. Mom would come in, settle on the side of his bed, tucking him in until he felt suffocated. But safe. Sometimes she read to him, but mostly she told him stories.

Stories of a handsome king. Of a beautiful girl, and the adventures she had in the Underground world she had been taken to. He hadn’t believed they were real, at least, not after he turned ten or so. His friend, Sherman Little, would have laughed his head off if he knew that Jason once thought fairy tales were true.

It was that same friend that had traveled with him overseas. Who studied endlessly, no fun in sight, until Jason grew bored and went to do his own thing out in the towns nearby. He stumbled one day into a small bookstore where he spent equal time perusing a hot girl and the books on the shelves. It was there he came upon The Book.

It looked like the same book his mom had hidden in the trunk in the basement, right by the washer and dryer. She probably thought he wouldn’t find it there, since he hated chores and especially laundry. But she hadn’t counted on the dare from Sherm to hide in that very same trunk.

Of course he had gotten stuck. Sherman had nearly busted his big toe kicking at the thing until it popped back open. But while snooping, before that trunk-lid snapped down on him, he saw the little red book and hid it under his shirt until he could read it on his own.

His secret: he loved to read. Voraciously, any and everything that he got his hands on. Which was probably half of why he never had to apply himself in school, and also why he ended up in that beat up and dingy old bookstore. The girl had left without speaking to him, but it hardly mattered. His attentions were sidetracked. He had stolen the book, just because. It burned in his pocket as he went back to the dormitory. Burned his conscience, too.

Later that night, when Sherm was asleep, snoring away, Jason retrieved the book. Read it cover to cover, and wished it were real. Stupid, he knew. But things had gotten so shitty at home.

Mom acted like he was either an escaped convict needing constant supervision, or her little boy needing to be fed and burped. She had been that way since his old man had found his new wife. Shit, but that had torn her up.

Even though she had been sad back then, she bounced back, even allowing him to travel out of country. Not like now. His mom wasn’t bouncing back from her affair with her lover—he shivered at the thought—the king. That bastard had bigger balls than him, and to Jason, that said a lot. Jareth acted like he feared nothing, not even his mom’s wrath. And when they looked at each other, you’d think one of them would either start a cuss-war or ignite into fucking flames.

The ceiling shifted and pulsed. He blinked. He had trained for a long time that morning, and he had it later that afternoon, as well. He shifted, rubbing his eyes. He wanted to sleep or maybe jerk off, or both, but Amr would come for him soon. In just enough time to bark at him about almost being late. The general was a total badass. But his daughter, man. Linia was the real deal.

He got hard just thinking about her, adjusting himself under the sheets. He lay naked; the better to get off. He took himself in hand, stroking the way he liked.

Linia. Linia… He breathed faster, gripped harder with his strokes.

He looked at the small timepiece near the window. Time enough. Hell, even a minute would be long enough just thinking of--

A knock on his door. “Fuck!” he said, covering himself. Damn that bastard general for showing up extra early.

It wasn’t the bastard. The object of his lust-fueled fantasy entered, stepping in as if she owned the room, her long hair down. She wore a dress, a pink one, and dammit! She was--

“Interrupting something?” she asked, closing the door behind her. She studied him with a coy tilt of her head.

“No.” He had the grace to blush.

She sat down on the edge of his bed, a smirk on her beautiful face. “Go on. Continue. I’d hate to disturb your...rhythm.”

Big balls. Jason grinned. “Well, since you ask so politely.”

But he hesitated, not willing to do that in front of her. It seemed crass, unseemly. He flushed a deeper hue of pink. Gods, how he wanted to, though. And do so much more--

She peeled back the covers, revealing the delicate state he was currently in. One eyebrow arched. “Do you need help?” Wry, with a genuinely amused smile on her face.

Jason sputtered. She leaned over him, her mouth near enough to grab between his teeth. To nip and kiss her into pleasure. His balls clenched up tighter to his body, his cock jerking. So damn close…

She made a point of analyzing him. He had never felt as enthralled, or as completely lacking. Maybe he wasn’t big enough. Maybe she’d had better--

Then…fuck! She ran her forefinger down the vein in his cock. Up and down. Teasing. Oh Gods--

Linia smiled, her eyes flaring. “If you would rather I not--”

“No!” he said. “I mean..” He couldn’t breathe, could hardly speak. “Yes!”

His face brightened further. Damn. But Linia didn’t seem to mind, or care about his fumbling. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. He could smell her scent; like cinnamon and vanilla. He fought a groan. He wanted to sink into the mattress, and just...disappear.

She had other ideas, apparently, then putting him out of his misery. Like, making him nearly climax all over her fingers, all over his sheets, like a twelve year old going at it for the first time. As if her touch hadn’t been enough, her smile could easily have blown him over the edge.

She toyed with the buttons on her dress, plucking each nub as if she wanted to… She leaned over and kissed him, her breath warm and sweet, her tongue dipping in and sucking on his. He would embarrass himself any minute. Any godsdamn second.

It was good. Really good. Though, he felt...strange. Like his heart couldn’t contain itself and his mind wanted to escape right out from inside him. He kept kissing and kissing her. Gods, she tasted fan-fucking-tastic. Yep. Cinnamon. Like a candied apple, good. He licked at her lower lip, nibbling at the corner of her mouth. One corner, then the other. She moaned and he nearly exploded. She would be his death.

He brought his hands up into her hair, cradling her neck, bringing her in closer. He wished she had worn it down just for him, the thought making his mouth pulse near her throat with an urgency he couldn’t hide. To taste her exposed flesh, her head thrown back to let him in. To bite. To inhale her until he couldn’t get another morsel of her sweet scent etched into his memory. To own. Yes—to have all of her...

His fucking fingers had a life of their own, determined to sink into that inky dark, thick gorgeousness. Like they wanted to encircle all of her and suck her in. By gods, she was--

She pulled back. Gave him a secret smile, and started unbuttoning her dress. She wore nothing underneath. Then the warrior-woman grazed her body with his, and he lost focus. She was superb. Exquisite. And she was naked in his bed.

She finished him. He finished her, too; four times. And he counted each and every fucking time.

*****

Jareth sat in his small office, staring at nothing. The air pressed in on him, and his shoulders felt too tight. He would stand. Sit, stand again, restless energy marking the afternoon.

He heard a knock at the door and he quickly straightened himself. He looked disheveled. But maybe it was Sarah--

“Enter.”

A goblin stormed in, stood in front of him, silently waiting for approval to speak. “Yes?” Irritation coming out in his voice.

The messenger handed him a folded note and then left. Jareth’s fingers shook. He unsealed it, and let out the exhale he had held in without realizing it.

Can we talk? Any time and place preferable to you. S.

Jareth summoned a crystal, bringing the messenger back into the room. The goblin huffed. “I just left, your Majesty.”

Any other time the comment would have meant the bog. But Jareth’s heart had filled over with happiness. With hope. Sarah wished to talk. He jotted down a quick reply, settling back down in his chair to wait.

He didn’t have long. A steady knock sounded and he manipulated his voice into calm. “Please. Enter.”

She stood uncertainly in the doorway. He stood, beckoning her in. “Please,” he said, making sure he was unfailingly polite with her. He didn’t want her to bolt. “Come sit.” He gestured to the two chairs resting side by side.

She shook her head, her face wan. “I just...I,” she stammered.

He kept his voice soft. Approachable. “Yes, Sarah?”

He had so much of his own to say, so much to admit to. But he wouldn’t take this away from her. She beckoned him; he must listen. He may not be given a second chance.

She looked at the dead fireplace. “Aren’t you cold?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Are you? I can light a fire.” He hastened to the kindling, hunching down to make work starting a flame.

She stopped him, a light hand on his shoulder. He wanted to purr.

“No. It’s okay. I’m fine.” She gathered herself, taking a deep inhale. Letting it out as if it were to be her last.

“What is it, my sweet?”

She paled more. He bit at his inner lip. Damn. He shouldn’t have--

“Jareth, I wanted to apologize I’m so sorry for doing what I did to you I never should have--”

Her frantic ramble eased as he placed a finger over her lips. Gentle. So as not to scare her.

He pulled her to a chair, sat her down. Stepped back out of her space.

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

She sighed. “Yes. There is. I behaved--”

“ Very sexily.” Her eyes shot open. He continued, sinking down on one knee in front of her, appealing to her. “You behaved like a sexy woman who wanted a fuck and who acted upon it. It was my greatest pleasure to be your recipient.” And to be her willing recipient at any time and anywhere else she chose. He bit his lip.

She stumbled on her next words. “You’re not mad.”

He stood, placing his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He was aroused just by the talk of it, though he doubted that would go over well.

“I’m not mad.”

Tell her…

He paced a little, pulling a gap in between the rub of his clothing and his semi-hard cock. He sat, masking his erection by placing one calf discreetly over the other knee.

She relaxed into the cushion of the chair. “You seem...” She hesitated again.

“Sarah, am I that frightening?”

She choked, biting back a snort. “Jareth, you used to wish I thought you frightening.”

“A ploy.” He grinned. It was good to see her with her sense of humor intact.

She fiddled with a loose seam next to her leg. “Maybe...” She stood. “I should go.”

He fought the urge to scream. No no no don’t leave… “Sarah,” he said, instead. “Please sit. I wish to speak with you also.”

“Oh?” A wealth of meaning in that one little word.

He improvised. “Of course you may leave any time you wish. I won’t keep you. But I hope you will let me say--” He paused, his head bowing. It was harder than he thought, this humility. He hadn’t been raised to beg of anyone.

But this was Sarah. And he had to do it. Or lose her.

He spread his palms wide, imploring her. “I have much to atone for. If you will let me, I want to try.”

She peered at him, owlish. Eyes blinking over and over as they stared at him. Saying nothing.

“Do you want to try, Sarah?” His voice came fast. Frantic. Pleading.

Slowly she nodded. And the pain in his heart lifted, just a little bit. He allowed a small smile.

Sarah didn’t smile back. “Jareth, I hope you know it won’t be easy. I won’t take it easy on you. You failed, horribly and utterly.”

He was being brought up for his actions like he was a youth. At another time he would have cringed. This time he jumped forward, taking her hands in his.

“Yes,” he said. “I did fail.” It was easier to say this time. He rushed along, his words just as jumbled as hers had been earlier. “And I want to make it better.”

She slipped her palms out from his grasp. “It’ll take time.”

“Yes.” He couldn’t breathe. This was time he couldn’t manipulate. He couldn’t fast forward or remove. He had to work for it. “I will do as you wish.”

She stayed silent a moment more, perusing him. Perhaps...finding him lacking. He shifted his stance, uneasy with her stare.

The king, begging to his queen. The queen, pausing once, then walking shakily out the door. Head high. Her gait weary.

“You’d better,” she said.

She left, not looking back. Not allowing him any more say. And Jareth, he fought between vindication and misery, the latter taking control.

*****

Chapter Nineteen

Sarah peered at Jareth’s itinerary for the month, the one she had demanded but didn’t really know what to do with. She frowned. Not a time or a date had an empty space; he should have been busy, with not a moment to spare. Instead of going to meetings and banquets and social functions for noble and commoner alike, he had been spending his time with her. She didn’t understand his reasoning.

She marched down the hallway until she reached the throne room, barging into his office. He sat with his general, though whatever they were talking about ceased when she walked in the door.

Amr greeted her, his eyes flashing as they gazed upon her. “Your Majesty.”

“General.”

He bowed and exited, though she could tell by his strained face that whatever they had been saying wasn’t finished. Jareth looked glad of the disruption. He stood, beckoning her to join him on the small lounging sofa by the window.

“Thanks, I’ll stand.” She moved to his desk, plopping down the parchment. “What is this?” Firm, demanding his honest answer.

He sighed. “You know very well what it is, Sarah.” He leaned against his desk. “Why do you ask?”

“You haven’t attended any of these things. I want to know why.”

His face went carefully void. “I think you know the reason.”

“Is this your way of getting back at me? To ignore all your previous engagements?” She huffed.

He rubbed at his forehead. “No, my sweet. It’s my way of spending time with you.” Honest, though unexpected.

She blinked. Blinked again. “Why would you do that?” Hushed. “Leave your kingdom in peril of an uprising, or something equally as horrific. You know how the people are--”

“Yes.” His jaw tightened, voicing condemnation. “Their violent displays are surprisingly imaginative for ones with no time on their hands.” His tone deliberately blase. His eyes bore into hers, though, with a tinge of worry. He cared about his flawed kingdom. His pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it in front of her, to be seen as weak in her eyes for doing so. But what he failed to reason was, it made him more attractive, and hardly weak...

She floundered at his apathetic response. “So why?”

“I had more important things to do.” A gauntlet thrown. He cocked a grin, watching her like a jungle cat with its prey.

Sarah crossed her arms. “I may not know much about how to rule, but I do know this.” She pointed out the window, throwing out her arm to encompass the territory surrounding them. “You can’t give up maintaining your vital contacts, the entreaties, your warrior’s training regimental just for me. I am nothing compared--”

Smugly said. She had studied up on those things before venturing to talk with him.

He bit words out, vicious and static. “Nothing?” He glared at her. “You are everything. Sarah, it stuns me that you still don’t know your own worth to this kingdom.” He sighed, his anger dissolving as quickly as it had erupted. “I wanted you to be comfortable again—with me, with being here, before you had to venture into dealings such as those. But if you are insistent--”

“I am.” Her face set mulishly.

He gestured for her. “Come near.” He pointed at the paper on his desk, curled back into its original rolled shape. He spread it with his palms. “Look at this.” He gestured to the banquet he had been planning. Just two days away. “Do you still intend on this occurring?”

She nodded, not understanding at first that he baited her. He shook his head.

“No. It can’t happen. Do you know why?” A retaliatory question, blunt. He tried to teach her; his methods of training cruel and petty. But honest, very honest. And for that, she listened.

Again, her head shook no. She felt stupid for even bringing it up; she knew nothing of what he did. Jareth had always overseen the kingdom. She had just sat on the sidelines, like a pretty pretty bauble on display.

“Events such as these,” he stressed, “Even intimately small ones, need monumental amounts of food prepared in the kitchens. Rooms aired and cleaned. Flowers arranged and kept fresh. The carpets need to be dragged outdoors and beat so as to get the debris out. Sometimes scrubbed from their stains. Carpets such as ours are heavy, taking several workers each. Nothing can be left to chance. Nothing can be overlooked.”

“So why--”

He was angry again, but his eyes didn’t burn at her. He said, rolling the paper back up into a tight vice, “Ain left, as you know.” He bit out the destination, one she hadn’t conceived. “She is at my uncle’s fortress.” He added when her face went blank, “You know...Jacoby, the man that leered at you like you were a cupcake he wanted to unwrap.” She nodded, remembering the man that looked like Jareth, only older. He had sickened her, and apparently her husband felt the same of his relative.

Jareth went to the lounge and sat, crossing his legs in deceptively casual motion. “She took more than half the staff with her. Some of the rarer paintings,” he waved his hand at the locked room beyond. He continued, his voice bland. “Some precious trinkets...” He didn’t expound on how much she had taken, or gotten away with. He looked at her, Sarah’s insignificant knowledge of the castle and its foibles and habits making her cringe. “But,” he said, “It is enough that she left. So I care not.”

“Why?” She pressed, although it was foolish of her to do so in his current erratic mood. Why make her go when you loved her? Why make her leave at all? Questions she didn’t ask or find the answers to.

He tipped his head to the side, examining her, amused. “How I have missed your impertinent questions, my sweet.” She flushed. “Why?” He yawned dramatically. “Because to fill the positions needed would be a massive undertaking. And I have better things to do.”

He left no doubt of what he meant. Sarah stayed stubborn. “I want to know,” she started to say, even as Jareth raised an eyebrow. She amended, “I want to know whatever you can teach me.”

He grinned. “There is much I can teach you.” Seductive. His eyes devoured. “I would be most pleased--”

She snapped, her tone more vicious than she intended. “Not that. Just about the kingdom. And the castle.”

His answer gave nothing away. “You are queen. You deserve to know, of course.”

“Yes.” She bit out, crossing her arms with alacrity. “And you are my husband. Not my interpreter of what I deserve to know or do not.”

He clucked, standing and approaching her. Casual, too casual, he stood near her. “Such a vicious tongue. I do love your spunk.” His chest rose and fell. Quickly. Starved.

“Jareth--” Exasperated. So that she never saw his blatant intentions until they played out--

With swift ferocity he came before her, pulled her to him, leaning down to cover his mouth over her own, deeply kissing. Inhaling her breath in his attack. Predatory and somewhat cruel. She leaned into him, letting him feast upon her mouth and her jaded soul, just for one exquisite, blinding moment. Then she reached a hand up between them, braced it upon his heaving chest, and cast him off.

His eyes were flame. Tortured. Alight with purpose.

She shook her head. “I don’t think we should let that get between us.”

He smiled, a wolfish gleam. “What, precisely, do you refer to as that?”

“Us. Sex.” She clarified even though she knew she didn’t have to. “I made a mistake letting us be together that time. But--”

“No mistake,” he said, his eyes flickering with jealous incantation. He wanted her, all of her, and she wanted to let him have what he so desired. What she herself craved. But--

She stepped away. She put on her lawyer voice, brisk and businesslike. “So, tell me what is on the agenda for today. I saw you speaking with Amr. I assume I should be made aware of what you two were discussing.”

Jareth chuckled, his fire dimming only for the moment. “I admire you, Sarah. Always willing to put the greater good ahead of yourself. I cannot say I am the same.”

“No,” she snapped, “Because you think with your--”

He clicked his tongue. “Ah, ah, ah, my sweet. We both know how that part of my body excites you. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He mocked, but his gaze flickered. She knew enough about him to realize something was, indeed, brewing.

Her voice hushed. Reflective. “What is wrong?”

He debated telling her. She saw it in the tense lines of his body. “If you wish.” He sighed. “Do you recall my general stating the condition of the Labyrinth? It was perhaps a lunar month ago, when you first arrived.” Jareth paused. She didn’t understand—and that bit at her.

She nodded. He continued, after she took that time to recall. “It grows.” Her eyes flickered. He added, his mood dark. “It shouldn’t be doing so, and I can’t find any reasoning behind it.” He looked at her, testing her, needling her knowledge. Or lack thereof. Yes, he was in a vicious, cruel mood.

She whispered, frankly embarrassed by her lack of expertise on the subject. “I don’t know what it could be.” She hated the admittance.

“There is nothing wrong with needing to learn.” For once, he made no mockery. “We will study the problem together.”

She nodded again, pleased by his willingness to include her, to not fight her on this. She had to feel...appreciated. Jareth tried. He tried, and failed, and tried over again. His excess of personality made her want to smile, made her also want to throttle him. His doubt and fears made her want to console. But she didn’t. He had as much to learn as she did. And that had to come on his own--

He reached out, his eyes cautious. Narrowed on her face. He stroked a slow finger down the side of her cheek, a brief caress, before he stepped back and leaned against his desk again. His arms crossed, his legs extended. His body casual, his mind set upon rumination, even while he rested lazily.

“I missed you, Sarah,” he said, changing the subject completely. She braced herself against his words, but he continued as if she hadn’t. “Your wide-eyed queries, your delightful pondering.”

She wanted to tell him to hush. She didn’t want to hear his recollections of her. It hurt too much. Instead she damned herself and said, “You’ve never acted like you’ve cared, either way.”

He flinched, a rubberband of reaction. “I cared.” His voice, soft. “In spite of everything you think or want to believe, I missed you all the while you were gone from me. Those green eyes looking at me like I was your hero.” It was her turn to react with a jerk.

He continued, wounded. Hurt, where he hadn’t the right. “Did you think I didn’t notice how you would watch for me? Look from your window to me when I passed by? Look for me when you walked the corridors--”

She shook, instantaneous anger making her quiver. His obtuseness made her cringe with outrage. “You were a monster to me. And you’re still that monster today.”

He sneered, raging back at her. “You don’t know what a monster truly is.” He came before her, inhabiting her space. “I can be that beast now, if you so desire, but I think I’m better suited for it elsewhere.”

She backed up, nearly toppling into the desk. Immediate lust tackled her, his anger only spurring her on. “Where?”

She knew, of course, and wanted it. Badly.

His eyes were cruel. Lit on fire for her. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and tight. Feeling the same thirst, the same hunger, he displayed openly and obvious. He was magnificent, even when furious. And she wanted all of him.

“In my bed. In our bedroom. Where you belong.” He whispered, his voice loosening into silky smoke. His excitement blatant and real.

He stared at her, his chest palpitating. In. Out, in. Eyes anticipating. Then he lunged, his body slamming hers into that desk, hovering over her like a demon from the pits of hell. Eyes nearly black as they feasted upon her; her heart responding with an aching tug. He nipped at her exposed flesh, delicate, as if he were sumptuously supping on the finest of delicacies. He gave her no option but to crave him back, their power play like a toy that teeter-tottered.

She did want him back. Immensely. But she stood stock still, unwilling to cave. Teeter-totter...

Then in sudden departure, he heaved a great war-cry, pushing away from her. His breath staggered and his face looked devoid of color. He flashed a canine grin, wary though merciless.

His voice was grim, oddly stagnant. “You asked for time, my sweet. I desire to obey. So please, if you value your clothing intact and your wishes upheld,” he intoned, “Leave. Now.”

She didn’t hesitate. She ran, hearing his outraged cry of agony as she slammed the door behind her, the searing pull on her side making her body a burning flame. Her soul, connected to his, and fighting it thoroughly.

*****

Chapter Twenty

When Sarah dashed out from Jareth’s office, past the throne room into the hallway, she saw Amr standing against the far wall. Arms crossed against his broad chest and legs splayed casually.

She paused, not expecting to see him. Not expecting him to uncross his arms and attempt to look halfway civilized. He straightened from his lean against the stone.

“Are you okay?” he asked. A strange question from the male that never bothered to be kind in any way towards her.

She stared at him. “I’m fine.” She stopped near him, looking up. And up and up into his void face. “Why do you ask?”

“I heard—“

Sarah interjected. “Wereyou listening in on us?” Tart. Not at all pleased.

“My job is to listen and to know everything that happens in this castle.” Calm, where she fumed.

“I am not to be part of your undercover surveillance, job or not.” She snapped at him. Amr’s grimace made her rethink her quick retort.

“You are. I wouldn’t be doing my duty—“

“Well, you’ve done your...thing. You can go.”

She flared, not so much as to what he told her, but because she remembered painfully her words with Jareth. Her hurt and shame and distrust of the king only mounted. It raised higher knowing she had not been given the respect to do as she pleased by him without being surveyed.

Amr stepped forward. “I know you are angry—“

“Yes. I am.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I don't want you spying on me.”

“You wouldn’t be mad at all if you knew how he tends to overreact. You might have been—“

“I am in no danger from my husband.”

He frowned. “I just know the king. He has a temper…” He broke off.

Sarah bit back on her words, trying to make nice to the man that had never seemed to bother with her before. “Yeah, well, I have a bit of a temper myself.”

“I heard him yelling in there.”

“Why not just barge in, then, and be part of the conversation?”

He had the grace to look somewhat ashamed. “I know his mood, especially today.”

“He told me some of what is bothering him.And yes,I noticed.”

She moved past him. He followed, close at her side.

“You don’t have to escort me. I’m just going to my rooms.” Her brow furrowed.

He shrugged. “I’m going in that direction, anyhow. It’s my pleasure.”

She did snort, then. “Your pleasure?” She scoffed. “Why? You don’t even like me.”

He stopped, jerking her to a halt also. “I don’t dislike you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Sarah made to continue walking but his hand didn’t remove from her forearm.

He clarified. “I like you,” he said, blunt.

“Your actions and past conversations prove otherwise, I’m afraid.” She looked up the hallway. “No matter. We don’t have to be friends.”

“We could be.” He let her go. He stayed near, in her shadow.

She hesitated. “Is that what you want?” Unsure. The general had never spoken much to her. He was aloof, almost volatile in nature. She tried to excuse him, but he hadn’t precisely been kind to her since her return.

He nodded. Once, quick.

She contemplated. “Why now?”

He gave a jerk. “What do you mean?”

She repeated it. “Why now?”

His flush grew. “I may not have treated you the way you deserved.”

“Oh?” Let him beg. He had bordered on cruel with her, and she had no reason to want to be a recipient of his friendship.

“I may have been somewhat…” He paused. “Do you really need to make me say this?”

“Yep.”

“I did what I thought I had to do.”

“What? That’s your reasoning for making me afraid of you?”

“You didn’t have to be afraid of me. I would never harm you.” He laid his hand over his heart. “Champion, I live for serving you. To keep you safe.”

Sarah muttered, “Could’vefooled me.”

His ears were sharp. He retorted, “I have been your willing servant since the day I first set eyes on you.”

“I’ve only returned this past month.” Caustic.

“No,” he stepped out of the shadow, into her inner circle. “I meant when you came here initially.”

“I was sixteen. Surely not—“

Amr nodded. “I wasn’t a general then, just an ordinary guard. I was assigned duty to watch over you.”

“I didn’t know that—“

“Did you think the king would let his future queen be without protection?”

“I guess not.” It made her uncomfortable that she had people overseeing her and she hadn’t any knowledge of it until now.

His gaze softened. “I have been friends with Jareth for many years. Longer than you can even conceive. And he wants only the best for you.”

“I like to think so.”

“You mean the world to him.”

Sarah’s heart skipped. If only that were true. “I don’t think I should discuss this with you. My relationship is private.”

He chortled. “Nothing in this castle is private, especially the way the king and the queen interact.”

She stepped to the side, wanting the conversation over. Amr hadn’t said anything rude or unpleasant or even disturbing. She just didn’t know how to handle him being polite.

Taking on her cue, he moved back again. “Champion…”

She raised her chin, listening. He said, his voice so quiet she barely heard him, “I meant what I said. I don’t wish any harm to you.”

Fear struck her. “Should I be worried?”

He contemplated. “It is always possible that others may wish you trouble.Just be on your guard.”

She bit back bitter laughter. “Why, when I have you, noble servant?”

He didn’t return the laugh. He didn’t even smile, showing his wholehearted intention to protect. Regardless of situation.

“You’re serious.” She shivered. “What do you know?”

“Enough to warn you.” It was all he said. He returned to his shadowy hiding place against the wall. She nodded.

“I will be careful.” Her room stood just down the hallway. She faced him. “I can go from here. Thanks.”

He nodded. “If you need me. Just call.”

She didn't respond. She would never call on him. He was Jareth’s general, not her personal guard. She could ignore him all she pleased, and she planned on it.

*****

She heard running down the hallway, then Jareth’s voice. “Did she come this way?” He questioned Amr. The answer rang loud and crystal sharp.

“She’s on her way to her rooms.” Impertinent bastard. So much for being her friend. He had just handed her off to the king, no questions asked.

Sarah tugged on her door handle. Locked.

Jareth came up behind her, not even breathless, though he had several corridors and three flights of stairs to climb to get to her. “I wanted to speak with you.” His eyes plead.

“It’s locked,” she said, frustrated. “I didn’t even close the door when I left.” A mumble. A curse.

He said smoothly. “I locked it.”

“Why?” Sharp and condemning.

“I said I wanted to talk.”

“So you want something and you just take it. Typical.”

“Sarah, don’t be mad at me. I wanted to apologize.”

“You should apologize. You scared me back there.”

His face blanched. “I never would do so purposefully.”

She shrugged, pushing him away mentally, her emotions corded with fraught. “We are always going to be at each other, Jareth.” She contemplated. “There is something between us that makes us just—“ She paused again. “You have to learn to control yourself.”

“I thought I just did.” Indignant.

She sighed. “I don’t mean letting me go because you have to, or just allowing yourself to feel the attraction, because.” She distanced herself. “I’m not even sure how real it is, this, whatever we have—“

“It’s real. Don’t you feel it, pulling at you?”

She rubbed at her side. “Yes. But—“

He took her upper arms in his palms. Squeezing gently. “I just want us to be okay.”

“I’m not sure we can be.”

He glowered. “We can.”

“Why? Because you command it? Jareth, things aren’t supposed to work that way.”

His mouth set mulishly. “Can we walk for a bit?”

She nodded. His determination meant she wouldn’t have any rest until she complied. It seemed a simple thing, giving in. But it hinted at their whole relationship. Never settled, always about him.

Jareth took her elbow. They walked in silence a while.

“Did Amr speak with you?” he asked. A tinge of jealousy coated his voice.

“Yes.” She turned to him, sarcasm making her tone crisp. “I imagine he thinks it’s his duty to befriend me.” She added, “And to listen into keyholes.” She started walking again. “But your general is not the type to make nice, and especially not to me.”

“Why wouldn’t you think so?” Surprised. And defending his general even as he bypassed her feelings. Again.

“Oh, I don’t know…” She glared. “Maybe because he had to keep an eye on me when I was sixteen, while he surely had better things to do than to monitor a teenage girl—“

“If I wanted him to monitor you, he should.” His arms crossed. Yes, he was still peeved at her for her earlier reaction to him, despite his apologies to the contrary.

“You just don’t get it, Jareth. I wanted peace when I came to you all of those years ago. I hadn’t found it in my life, and you just walked all over me, not giving me any say.”

“I am over a century older than you, Sarah.” He stood with his hands braced against his hips. Exasperated. “I fail to see why I wouldn’t know best.”

She flustered, sputtering. “Because you’re a huge, pompous dickwad that doesn’t know to leave well enough alone, that’s why!” She stormed away.

He caught up to her easily. “Sarah. I’m sorry. I want to do right by you. Please forgive me, many times over, my sweet.”

“Just because you want something doesn’t mean you should get it.”

I could say the same of you. Wry and disgruntled.

Sarah glared. “What did you say?” Furious.

Jareth frowned. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. I heard you.”

Jareth blinked. Blinked again, staring at her like she had four sets of eyes. “What?” she asked.

He smiled, slow and triumphant. His head tilted as he examined her. “What you heard was my inner monologue.” His voice cautiously delighted.

“Impossible.”

His grin broadened. “Not when we are soul-bonded.”

“I don’t believe in that.”

“You used to,” he said.

Things change, you ass. She gasped when he threw back his head and burst into laughter.

“What is so funny?” Sarah asked.

“Your inner monologue wants to bring havoc to me. It’s rather amusing, my sweet.”

It was her turn to contemplate him. It was impossible, though she knew such things occurred. Why them, why now?

She whispered, “Do it again.”

He squished his eyes tight, thinking. “Did you hear me?”

“No.”

“I said I want to—“ Mischievous. Totally overriding his earlier concern about not pushing her to do what she didn’t want.

She sighed. “Forget about it. I don’t want to know your inner depravities, anyhow. Can you unlock my door now?”

He steered her back to her rooms. “For you—“

She didn’t deign to respond. She knew exactly what he was going to say. She entered her rooms, almost slamming the door behind her. Once again they spoke, but solved nothing.

*****

Chapter Twenty One

Sarah woke early, ate a quick breakfast, and went straight to the library. If she had to stay here in Jareth’s world, she’d be damned if she did it without knowing her left from her right. She thrived on learning, on knowledge; of that part of her that loved being a lawyer. To analyze, to weigh all options.

Jareth gave very little back. His reticence likely stemmed from years of getting his own way. If they were bound, Sarah wanted to know all about it. Possibly how to break it. She thought she had broken it years ago. Taking off Jareth’s ring. Removing herself from the Underground.

She shook her head, piling another book onto her table. Hours she sat in silence. Pages turning. Notes taken.

By lunchtime she wanted to throw all the books against the wall. Was there nothing in the damned library that didn’t boast of the king, of his glory, of all his accomplishments? She frowned. Surely something had to tell the honest, undistorted truth about her husband and about his kingdom.

She wanted to quit, and started packing up her work when she heard laughter, rich-toned and hearty. And a child’s response, quick and light. Jaren and Amr came into the library, Jaren sitting on the general’s shoulder while the male spun around in fast circle, trying to make the boy dizzy.

Playing...

Amr was playing with Jareth’s son; actually acting normal and—kind. She smiled, biting back her own laugh. She never—

They rounded the corner. Amr halted and Jaren whined. “Aw. Did’ya have to stop?”

The general said nothing, his face flushed with embarrassment. Sarah faced them while he lifted Jaren from his shoulders, resting the boy gently on the ground. The child disappeared, going for the shelves to pick a book.

Sarah quirked a grin. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Amr stroked the back of his neck. “I am his guardian. It seemed fitting.”

“You’re his guardian? What about Jareth?” Surprised.

He shrugged, not answering the question but adding what he wanted her to hear. “I do what is required of me.”

Bland. Yet she just saw how he interacted with the boy; Amr didn’t seem to mind this particular job given to him.

Jaren came running up to them, a huge tome in his hands. Something Sarah had perused but found difficult to read, as it was in a language she didn’t know.

“You found something?” Amr asked. Jaren nodded.

“I’ve read it over and over, but it’s my favorite.” Jaren still looked unhealthily pale, but he had put on weight and it was good to see him out of his rooms. Happy. Unrestrained.

“Where’s your Nanny?” Sarah asked him, her voice light. Jaren shrugged.

“Don’t know. Nanny stays away now.”

Amr took the boy’s hand. “I am to oversee him.”

“He’s my new guardian,” Jaren said, piping up. He added, his eyes alight with awe. “And the Guardian of the Labyrinth, too. Did he tell you—“

Amr shushed him with a look. Jaren looked at Sarah, then at his keeper, his voice chipper and a tad mischievous, “I’m not supposed to say that, either.”

The boy acted like having so many restrictions were normal. He acted like living exclusively within his selected set of rooms was normal, even normalized that he had a guardian that also served as the land’s general. A warrior, one that killed for a living. She shook, her body reacting with outrage.

Jaren had been stifled his whole life. By Ain, by his Nanny, by Jareth who couldn’t see fit to take charge of his own son. She turned to Amr.

“Can I speak with you?”

He nodded. Jaren wandered, going to a chair and plopping down, opening the thick book. He didn’t notice them after that, though Sarah still walked a distance away so that he wouldn’t overhear her talking.

The general followed her quietly, so soft in his boots that she turned around twice to see if he was still coming after her. In a corner she turned, her arms tight by her side.

“What is going on?” she asked.

Silence.

She added, her voice raising unconsciously. “Why do you have responsibility over Jaren?”

“I do what must be done.” The answer was as still and quiet as the man speaking it.

“That is shit.” She glowered. “Jareth just can’t be accountable for anything, can he?”

Amr frowned. “The king has many reasons for doing what he does.”

“And you don’t question, do you? You just sit on your haunches and obey like some big lug.” She lowered her voice. He didn’t budge, not even blinking at her tone.

“I’m sorry if you don’t understand,” the male said, not sorry at all. His jade eyes were fathomless. “It is an honor to oversee the boy.”

“I imagine you think so.” Sarah looked over the span of the room where Jaren still sat reading. “Why does everything in this damned kingdom center around Jareth and his whims?” A question not meant to be answered.

Amr responded anyway. “He is king.”

“Yeah. I know.” Sarah backed up, banging into a shelf. “I just wish that…” She paused. Sighed. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

He steadied her. “You know more than you think.”

“So I’ve heard.” Wry.

He frowned. “Some things can’t just be told. They have to be learned,” he said, adding, “And appreciated for what they are.”

Sarah peered at him. “Know what?”

Silence. He didn’t answer, or it seemed, did he plan to.

She said, terse, “That is a load of bullshit.” She looked around, tossing her hands in the air with frustration. Changing the subject. “Do you know where I can find something in this library that doesn’t reek of Jareth’s scheming?”

He laughed. Actually found something amusing, even if that something were her. She stared at him, biting back anger. Fighting the urge to laugh right back.

He answered with care. “There is a room in the back of this library. I have to make sure it stays locked at all times, but if you wish, I can let you in for a while.”

“Anything for the queen, right?” Sarcastic.

“For you, yes.” He didn’t react to her taunt. Not surprising.

She sighed. “Sure, if it has something to read besides those—“ She gestured to the large pile of discarded books on the table near Jaren.

A hint of a smile touched his face. “There are rare books inside about the history of this kingdom. Though it may take some sifting through. They haven’t been touched in decades.”

She looked at Jaren. “Maybe get the prince settled first, and then come back?”

He nodded. “I will return.”

Amr turned, his walk a march, only loosening as he reached Jaren. He smiled, stooped, and picked the boy back up to place him on his shoulders again. Then they left, and Sarah went to return her books to the shelves.

She laid down on a chaise to catch a quick nap before the general returned. Until she saw what was stored in that hidden room.

*****

When she opened her eyes, Amr was sitting across from her reading. She sat up, rubbing her face. A clock on the wall said she had slept for over an hour.

“You could have woken me,” she said.

He closed the book. “You looked at peace. Besides, I have no right to wake the queen.”

Her muscles felt stiff from the curled position she had been in. She stood, stretched.

“Let’s get to it. Jareth will expect me for dinner, and I best not be late.”

He nodded. He held a key in his hand. “There is a small hallway to go through. It’s rather low and dark, and it hasn’t been used for some time,” he warned.

“So you’re telling me that any manner of creepy crawlies could be lurking.”

He smiled but didn’t respond. She was learning he had little to say at any given time.

She followed him. He went to a wall in the back corner of the library and cast aside a tapestry. A door stood behind.

“Secret passageway,” Sarah said, excited. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”

“The castle has many.”

They entered. Cobwebs clustered into the ceiling and against the walls. Amr brushed them aside with his head, walking through without a qualm.

They turned right. Another hallway, smaller.

“It is tight. Think you’ll fit?” She said, teasing.

“I have been here before. So, yes.”

No sense of humor about that. She let him brush the walkway with his height, and she entered the room behind the tiny wood and grate door.

She stared. Floor to ceiling with books. He cast light into the area, but kept it dim.

“Magnificent,” she breathed.

“I can’t give you much light to read,” he apologized. “The books are old and rare, and could fall apart.”

“Where should I start?”

He answered by picking a thin, red leather book. It looked familiar. Sarah smiled. “I know that one.”

Amr shook his head. “No, I doubt it. This was written by the original ruler of this kingdom to his mortal queen. No one has seen it for near a millenia.”

Sarah took it, resting it carefully in her palm. “It seems funny that Jareth is just like his forebears, then.”

The general’s head shake answered no. “The king does not descend from Limar and Judith.”

She opened the book. “What do you mean?”

“Jareth conquered his kingdom in one of the bloodiest battles this world has ever seen. I was privileged to fight beside him.”

“I didn’t know he was a warrior.” Sarah frowned.

Amr brushed off a chair and pulled it up for her to sit at. “Yes. As I said, there is much you do not know.”

She plopped down. “I would’ve thought he’d brag about that, at least.”

“I imagine he strives to forget it.” Bland, as he was prone to be.

She questioned with a tilt of her head. He answered the unspoken words by continuing. “Your husband is exceedingly powerful. So much so that others have been afraid to overthrow him. But also, I imagine he fears that very gift, himself.”

“Why?”

“Power like that can be destructive if not harnessed.”

She read a few words, paused. “I have yet to discover what my power is. No one seems inclined to inform me, either.”

“You will find it.” He sat on a stool, ramrod straight.

She queried, “Do you know what it is?”

He nodded carefully. “I know a little.”

She grinned. “Am I more powerful than Jareth?” Teasing. Not expecting his reply.

“Yes. Much more, but only in a certain manner.”

“Well,” she said, taken aback. “I never thought you’d say that.”

His voice warned, “You will need to learn. Someday you’ll learn to tap into it and you won’t be ready.”

“I’m that strong?”

“Yes. But there is one stronger than even you.”

She heard worry in his voice. She said, soft, “Who?”

Amr looked at her, rising to pace. His voice harshened. “Don’t you know?” She shook her head and he nearly growled.

“You might have wanted to be forthcoming, at least about that. At least to your king.” He chastised her with his answer. “It’ll take all of us by surprise when he finally determines his capabilities.”

“Who, Amr?” She frowned, worried by his tense reaction.

He hissed at her for her obtuseness. “Your son, of course.”

*****

Chapter Twenty Two

She looked at him, calm, even though her insides trembled. “What do you know?”

He grinned. Sarah saw his face change from almost approachable to dangerous, cunning, fearless. He was the warrior-general, and she felt afraid.

He took the book from her hand. Opening it and gazing in. He handed it back to her, his face resuming the careful rectitude. He didn’t answer her, not directly, not at first.

Amr pulled the stool up near her, gripping his hands together in a clasp between his spread out legs. Relaxed. Then he began to speak, and Sarah realized it was a story. His story.

“I want you to understand the danger you put yourself in,” he said. “There are many things you don’t know, don’t understand.” He paused. “So if the book will help—if this will help, listen…”

He cleared his throat, as if unsure how to begin. She fiddled, then as he began to speak, she felt the pull of his history, of the history of the land. And she felt it consume her like a fire, like the brand of memory once alive.

He said, quietly at first, “Since the beginning of time in the Underground, immortal and mortal have been at odds,” he cleared his throat again, continuing, gathering his thoughts and swallowing pride. “Not since King Limar and his queen, Judith, were they allowed to marry, to have children.”

Sarah turned the red leather book in her hands. That was their story, the one in the book she held; the king and queen, the originals of the land. She looked at Amr with interest. He had a smooth voice, soothing and slightly rough. Nice to listen to.

“I worked as a blacksmith,” he said, “Many, many years ago. The forest and the river nearby made my profession passively lucrative, for the mortals that lived in the dark of the land needed my wares to protect themselves, and the rich could afford the excess amounts that I charged only to them.”

He paused, reflecting. “To be mortal was to be poor and mistreated and alone. I found friendship with many of them, for I had nothing but my land and the skill that I learned at my father’s knee.” He shrugged. “I was not rich, but I had a good life. Food, clothing, and many—“ He grinned, “—lovers.”

She ignored his last statement, questioning instead, “You weren’t born a lord, then?”

He shook his head. “No. That came later.”

She nodded, letting him continue. He flexed his hands. Strong hands that once forged precious metals. Hands that once killed for his king.

His face flushed with memory. With the sharp edge of pain. “There was a woman, fully mortal. A young woman, not much older than you when you first came to this kingdom. Her name was Tamar. And I fell in love with her.”

Sarah straightened. He said, his voice so hushed she could hardly hear him, “We couldn’t marry, couldn’t even show our feelings toward the other. To do so would mean defying the crown and bring us both death. So we hid our love from others, even from her family.”

“Linia’s mother?”

He nodded. “Yes. I watched Tamar slowly grow older, until she had silvered hair and many beautiful wrinkles that lined her skin. It didn’t matter how she looked. She was my true love.” He stopped, took a deep exhale. “I buried her at the end of a life that was far too short. A life where we spent more time apart than together. When she died, all I wanted to do was have myself buried as well.”

Sarah saw him, really looked at him, and felt deep compassion. He may have been sometimes nasty, and sometimes cruel, but a man that loved a woman that much couldn’t be all bad.

He coughed. Began again. “I met a man around that time named Jareth, a lord, a warrior.” He smiled at Sarah. “He was younger than I, but we became acquaintances during the time I still worked with metal. He took me under his wing, one might say, when Tamar died. He placed me in his battalion, and taught me to swing a sword.”

His smile was rueful. “I knew how to create, but my fighting wasn’t that good. I learned, though. Soon others feared me, and I found I liked that fear.”

Sarah frowned. He sounded so cold, so distant, as he talked of himself in that way. She dared not console him; she wanted him to continue, and her questions only distracted him from his tale.

“He saved me, my life. I wanted nothing more than to die, and Jareth gave me a new purpose on his king’s battlefield. My daughter Linia lived with her maternal grandfather at that time, and it wasn’t until he died that I brought her to me, as an apprentice of sorts. I trained her in warfare myself. We both fought by Jareth’s side to take over the king.”

“Why a war?” she asked.

“Why?” He sneered. “Because the king at that time was ruthless and greedy and hated mortals. He brought them to his court just to see them slaughtered in front of his throne. His entertainment.” His voice flared with outcry. “Jareth wanted to change that, to change things for the better. One of them being that mortals could live fear free in the land. He personally killed the king, taking over the throne. He had many followers. He still has his many allegiants.” He paused. “But he couldn’t fix the law about mortal and immortals joining to wed. To love without reprisal. He would’ve lost his crown, the one he gave up so much to gain.”

“I don’t understand.” Sarah frowned. “I am mortal, married—“

He gave a small snort. “I wouldn’t spread that around if I were you. It will cause an uprising, for sure.” He scoffed. “And as for your son. Jareth’s son…”

Sarah wanted to jump up and run at the tone of his voice. The threat within.

“A child born of mortal and immortal. A ruination. A bane.”

“Jason’s not the problem. Your kingdom is!” she flared.

Amr pointed out the obvious, what he had been driving at since the beginning of his story. “He holds tremendous power. And there are those that will do whatever they can to stop him from one day inheriting the crown.”

“I doubt he wants it, anyway. He wants to go home. We both do.”

He smiled. “I suppose you aren’t aware, then, of his relationship with my daughter?”

She said carefully, “I know that he likes her.”

“And she, him. It is enough to have them imprisoned by the many that adhere to the old ways.” He added, “I don’t think he will be in such a hurry to depart as long as they continue to love each other.”

She bit onto the sentence about imprisonment, ripping on the phrase like a rabid dog in the glories of summer. “Jareth would never allow—“

“The king is unaware of Jason’s paternity. Do you plan on telling him?” Sly.

She remained silent. “I don’t know,” she answered.

“I would if I were you. It may be the only thing that keeps him alive.”

She hushed. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I should,” Amr stated, back to his usual bland tone. “But I value my skin. And my position.” He added, “And if you are wise, my queen, you should value yours as well.”

He stood. He was through speaking. His eyes reverted to their previous coldness. At least Sarah knew part of why he looked like that. The reasoning did little to console her.

*****

Ain, Lady of Merr, stretched lazily. She stayed in bed, not because she had any intent of repeating last night, but because today her negotiations would begin.

Beside her lay Jacoby, uncle to the man she desired above all else—Jareth, king of the Goblins. King of the whole Underground. More likely the truth, she just desired his crown. Either way, she intended to make the best of her current situation.

She left the castle in the center of the Goblin city, not by choice, but by escort of the general himself. He had asked one question: where?

So she returned to the very place she never thought she’d have to see again. Jacoby sickened her, but he was good on his word. All she had to do was make nice in his bedroom, and anything she wanted she could ask for. The man acted besotted enough by her that he was willing to comply.

She wanted his money, his name, and his military force. Simple. And once she divulged the nasty little tidbit of information that she kept safe, he would see her side.

To be the wife of a man that wouldn’t be faithful didn’t bother her. She had many lovers in her time, some conjointly, some she paraded about as her one and only; male, female. Young. Old. All that mattered was that they furthered her. She didn’t want to go into the Great Passing without making a name for herself. To be powerful, to be desired, to have love without having to feel it in return.

He woke. She kissed him on his shoulder. He looked like Jareth. Wider, perhaps. A tinge of silver at his temple, but they could have passed for father and son. To be blunt, she had made her way through most of the royal family and the others that hovered to the side of the crown. Jacoby had to be the one she loathed to fuck the most.

The male had three wives, one husband, and many concubines. Such things weren’t unheard of with immortals. Ain plotted to be his primary wife. His primary adviser. With that, all else would fall into place.

“My love,” she said, kissing her way down his chest. “I am pleasantly sore.”

Sore—yes, frightfully so; she hoped never to repeat what he had her do last night. But she would. Yes, she would do anything. She shifted uncomfortably.

She may have been a liar, a conniver, but she hated the chore of the bedroom. Hated it more when she had to share the limelight. She made her looks into a power play. They had been used against her before. Never again. Now she would hold the power. Now she would control who did what to her.

“I can make it better,” he said, sliding down her body until he reached the center of her. Licking her from bottom to top with his slimy-touched tongue. She moaned as if she enjoyed it. Moaned louder when he did it again. He was too vain to realize she never got aroused, but she could play all day pretending she was.

The bleeding she felt deep inside, the raw and brutal rub of him as he shoved into her with no further attempt to woo, would only get worse as the day went on. He never stopped at just the one time.

Over and over and over she endured. Gave the appropriate response, even as she sought refuge within her deviously crafted mind.

Salves were her salvation. Minty. Fruity. Edible. She coped the only way she knew; plotting and planning.

Only with Jareth had she felt tinges of want, of desire. He had the reputation of being a passionate, giving lover. He certainly had taken time with her, his disappointment with her as she continued to mock his love-play, finally making him remove her from his bed. By then she had Jaren. By then, she didn’t care anymore.

He might have given everything to her, everything she had worked so hard for. But then the Champion returned, the woman he had talked about, cried over, made her second best to.

Damn Sarah, Lady of the Labyrinth. But damn Jareth, too. For now she would have to use what she knew against him.

And she would try not to feel regret.

*****

Chapter Twenty Three

Jareth wasn’t at dinner that night. He wasn’t at breakfast, nor at dinner the following night, so Sarah sat quietly with Amr. Picking at her food. Sleeping alone, and missing Jareth to warm her at night.

Jason preferred to spend his evenings with Linia, and she supposed she understood. If he loved the young woman, there would be nothing to keep him away. He had always been devoted to what he cared for.

By the fourth evening, when Jareth once again didn’t show up, Sarah picked up her mostly empty plate. She lifted her hand, ready to throw the contents smashing against the wall. Sitting it down before she acted so rash.

She said to the general, “I suppose you know where my husband is.” Not a question. Baiting him to lie.

“I do.” He put another bite into his mouth, chewing. Avoiding her gaze.

Her jaw twitched. “Well?”

“I cannot say. But jealousy never became any woman.”

She protested right back. “Does it become any man?” She sighed. “I want to trust him—“

“So do.”

“Once trust is lost, it’s very hard to gain it back.”

He stood, scooting his plate down beside her own. He sat. Observed her. “I can’t speak for the king, but I know him, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.”

“No. He’s too smart for that.” She rubbed her face with irritation. “I am being silly. Forget I said anything.” She took a bite of the almost cold food, still not hungry.

Amr leaned back in his chair. “Do you love him?”

“What?”

“Do. You. Love him?”

She said, soft, “I don’t know. I thought I did.”

“Your belief in the impossible is part of what makes Jareth care for you. He won’t betray you again.”

Sarah burst into tears, wiping them away with the palm of her hand. “I guess...I just want a normal relationship.”

He smiled. “You are married to a king. Nothing about your relationship will ever be normal.”

She smiled back, tentative. “You’re very wise.”

He gave her a lazy grin. “I have lived a long time. I’ve made my own mistakes through these years.”

Even though the cloud of her tears, she saw his point. She believed once upon a time, that Jareth could be everything to her. Maybe she gained some measure of perspective since then, but he was still that male she desired. Wholeheartedly and with every fiber of her being. That she had wished for while she playacted and created dreams as a young girl. Who she had left her own world for.

He kept her even though she was too young. He kept her even when he couldn’t touch her.

She knew now how difficult that must have been for him. In his kingdom, a girl of sixteen was old enough to bed. Jareth waited for her to grow up a little more.

So maybe—maybe, he did care for her. Her tears ceased. She stood, changed the subject to one that didn’t cause so much pain.

To Amr she said, “I found the book interesting. Unexpected.”

He pushed his chair back. Stood also. “It may be one of the few books within the kingdom that tells how it was in the beginning.”

She began to walk to the library, Amr following. Sarah knew he had knowledge of more than he wanted revealed. He acted so secretive, sometimes. But as the king’s general, she assumed that there was much he couldn’t say. She found a safe topic; the book he had let her read.

She questioned, “Limar gifted Judith with the Labyrinth. I thought the Labyrinth was older than their marriage.”

She took a seat, opened the red book she had left on the small table beside it. Perusing it before she sat it carefully back down. She folded her hands in her lap, waiting for the reclusive male to respond. He would only do so when he chose, a flaw that she found rather likable, instead. She had never liked a person that talked when they should stay silent, or vice versa.

“It is.” His eyes were careful, as were his words. “It’s ancient. The oldest of any entity in the Underground. He may have gifted it, but the Labyrinth cannot be owned.”

She already figured that out for herself. So she asked him another query, a means to distract from the lack of Jareth beside her. “You are Guardian of the Labyrinth. What does that mean, exactly?”

He stood still, gripping his sword handle. “I oversee its protection.” His answer was stiff and invited no further questioning. But Sarah was persistent. Years of law had taught her that.

“I thought it had power of its own.” Her head tipped with question. “Why would it need a protector?”

Amr pushed aside the blade on his hip and sat across from her. “It just is. Like the rain. Like love. It can overpower or be silent and calm. It picked me. I am honored for it.”

She mused. “When I ran the labyrinth, it seemed kind. Almost friendly. I guess it was just playing a part for a very imaginative child.”

He nodded. “You will never find in true life the imaginings of what had been revealed in your run. The Labyrinth draws on memory. It can create whatever, or whomever, it chooses.”

“Like a god.”

She thought of Jareth. He had been part of her challenge. Maybe the Labyrinth knew how much of a part of her life he would become.

Amr nodded, answering her. “Yes, somewhat. It has very strong power. But it needs a physical outlet to give it its life.”

She bit her lip. “That sounds rather...scary.”

“Hopefully whoever decides to utilize that power uses it for good. Evil can so easily come from it.”

She giggled nervously. “That sounds worse.”

“You need not be afraid. It has already tapped into you, and you didn’t even know it.”

Sarah flinched. His face twitched with the hint of a grin. “Did you really think you would escape from your trial without residual reminders of the entity that let you win?”

She smarted at that. “I won fairly.”

He corrected her. “You won because the Labyrinth wanted to chose its new master. It chose you, just as it chose me for another purpose.”

“I don’t believe in predestination, Amr. I want to live my life as I decide, not because some life force decides for me.”

He stood. Crossed his arms. “You’re too late for that. You were chosen to be queen before you even existed.”

She gaped. “What do you mean?” He started walking away. She called to him, frantic. “What do you mean, Amr?

He didn’t answer.

*****

Jareth was freezing from his balls on up, and alternately, missing Sarah. He wanted to rile her, to bring her to fruition, to make her plead for him. He couldn’t leave, but he could think of her, and often. As he sat in the council chamber of Brin the Old, the male noble’s cold and unwelcoming fortress made him want to crawl into bed with his wife and warm up.

And do many other pleasant things with her. He grinned.

“You find this amusing, my king?” A threat, however carefully it was voiced. Brin didn’t give two fucks about protocol, and he cared even less that talking disrespectfully to Jareth could mean time spent in the bog at the edge of the kingdom.

Jareth yawned. “I find everything about this conversation amusing.” He had been called away unexpectedly to this meeting with his allies, but they tested him. As always.

Brin smacked the table. “If war is coming, we must fight!” He glared at Jareth, willing him to defy. Such an impudent man. Jareth rather liked him. It was only that measure of camaraderie that made him stifle a groan.

He brushed his sleeve with casualness. If he reacted, they all would fire up and draw swords and their other weapons, possibly against each other. Keeping calm was a necessity in this blasted company.

He said, bland, “War is a constant. I refuse to be riled by the insipid threats directed at my kingdom.”

He said the words, but he knew differently. If war, if an uprising, was in the works, all would be affected. Even the king. Especially the king.

Twirling one of his smaller daggers in his hands, he set it to spinning on the bruised wood table. It screamed nonchalance. He smiled, lupine and dangerous.

“If I hear that one of my trusted advisor's,” he said, his words directed to Brin, who nodded in approval, “Is plotting against me, I will be forced to take repercussion.”

His eyes held bloodlust. It held promise. He noticed the young warrior-lord nearest him, shiver. Let them fear. Let them know that whoever wanted his throne would have to slaughter him to get it. Jareth hadn’t gained his power through stupidity. And he wouldn’t lose it through that method, either.

Part of him craved the thought of battle. It had been far too long since he had exorcised his temper by slicing a man’s head off.

Brin coughed. “Now, Jareth.” The male had centuries of life on him, one of the few in the room that could call the king by his given name. “All of us agree that if war comes, we must fight. But we would be fools to invite it into our lands.”

He bowed his head. The smart bastard. Brin knew where to stand on the issue, in spite of his rants and curses. He was trustworthy. More so than the others, perhaps.

Jareth stopped the blade from its wobbled motion, slapping his palm against it, bracing the weapon against the table. All eyes turned to him, the undertone of their conversation halting.

“I want reports. Send out your spies, all of them, even the worthless ones.” He leaned back in his chair. “If war comes, we know what to do. We’ve planned for it many times since my rule began.” He jabbed the dagger into the wood. “But there is more at stake than just my life. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone break through to her.”

Silence. Uncomfortable shame. Jareth knew what they had been discussing as he shifted into Brin’s inner sanctum. And it wasn’t who would sit where.

He looked each of them in the eye. A threat and a promise. “Protect your queen and you will have my blessing on you for all eternity. Defy me on this and your head will rest on a pike in your communal lands for all to worship.”

He stood. “Now, gentlemen…” He bowed, and turned to the sole female, “Lady… I have better things to do than to sit while you quibble.”

The female, Sayransa, spoke up where she had been watchfully silent. She weighed her words, not one to speak lightly.

“I think you will find that there is much more to discuss. Your queen, in fact, is one of the reasons we met here.” Her pure white eyes stared at him, seeing him even while blind. She had Sight, and it was only for this reason Jareth took her statement serious.

It didn’t stop him from biting out, “What about her?” If any dared—

Brin scoffed. “I have heard word that she is mortal. What say you?”

Jareth felt his heart begin to palpitate faster. “I say nothing of it at all.”

Another lord spoke up. “Is our Champion, in fact, one of them?”

One of the Accused. One that should never rule, or have the heart of the Labyrinth in her palm. One that Jareth would be wise to put to death before she rose to an unheard of power.

He cringed. He would sooner give into the Great Sleep than offer his wife’s gift of mortality to the blackness of the unknown. It was, however, something he may be forced into doing. His frown grew.

He placed his hands on the table. “I ask that you trust me. That I have your backing with my queen. With the Champion that lives to serve her kingdom.”

Brin piped up. “You haven’t answered the question.”

Jareth spat out his reply. “I believe that I have.”

He grabbed his leather gauntlets from the table in front of him, his cloak from a waiting servant. And strode out, his temper flaring.

Damn, damn, double damn! How did they learn of Sarah? Jareth had always placed a measure of protection on her, but now he would have to make sure Amr guarded her at all times. Her freedom would be curtailed, and he knew his wife. She would fight the restriction tooth and nail.

He ran his hand through his hair, and then across his face. Fuck! How would he explain to her what had to be done? What she had to give up…

Jareth divided the air, time and space to return home. He felt reckless. He would do anything to protect what was his. And Sarah, whether she realized it or not, belonged to him.

*****

Chapter Twenty Four

Jareth shifted. Rage and desire lived equally within. He needed Sarah; he needed an outlet for the swelling of his magic that threatened to consume. A single fuck wouldn’t be enough. He had to take her, over and over and over until she was begging, dripping with his seed and wet from orgasm. Until his lust lessened. Until his fear for her didn’t overtake him.

She was still so vulnerable. So very Mortal. He crashed a fist into the stone wall as he strode down the hallway to her rooms. Let her refuse him. He would crave her all the more.

His step faltered. He was cruel, but not the monster she assumed him to be. He tried to contain his passions. She had been afraid of him the last time he approached her. Fear of him. The thought made his quick and furious pace nearly halt.

Still, he rounded the corner and stood in front of her doors. Inhaling so sharply he thought his heart would bust through the flesh. He raised his hand to knock. Polite, when he felt anything but.

The door opened without the action to cause it. Sarah stood in the entranceway, her eyes flashing. She took one look at him, at the desperation in his face, and she pulled him in. Into her arms and into her bed. Knowing what he needed and giving all to him without restraint.

Although they didn’t make it even halfway across the room. Jareth ripped his clothing from his body, then hers. She tugged at him, wrapping her legs about him. And he plunged, deep and fast and hard into her. Standing. Banging their bodies against the wall, their climaxes coming within seconds of the other. As if their bodies knew they were meant to be together, even as their minds fought it.

As Jareth had sworn to himself to do, he took her again and again and again. She held him tight, erasing his fears. Erasing the pervasive blood-craving that threatened to swallow him whole.

Their breathing slowed. Took an easy pace. Jareth rested his head briefly against Sarah’s breast. Not with persuasion, but with contentment. He kissed her, slow and meticulously.

And, for the first time in the relationship, Jareth began to make love to his wife. He might lose her. Passion was fine. It drove him. But this...this inexplicable feeling that swallowed him, made him want to touch her with nothing but gentleness. With many soft kisses across her body, down her belly to the scar he knew came from when her son was born. Reverently he kissed. Reverently he stroked until they reached mutual pleasure. Even then he didn’t stop.

Multiple endings. All with one core—to give and not take. To forgive with the sweet pounding of flesh, with the innocence of passion that threatened to become more. To make whole.

They rested. Dozed. Began again. Jareth couldn’t get enough, and it was the lovemaking that crazed him. Made him feel, not just want. He induced her sighs, her throaty moans. He loved the small smattering of freckles that caressed her skin as he worked his way across her flesh. He craved—

Jareth pulled away, even as he had intended to finally relax. To ask that she could ever love him, even to respect him, would be folly. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring. Staring.

Sarah hesitated, sitting up also. She bracketed her arms around his shoulders. “Jareth. What’s wrong?”

As if he hadn’t just nearly raped her. As if he wouldn’t have if she had refused him—

“No,” she said, kissing his shoulder blade. “You wouldn’t have.”

He startled. Sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m capable of even that.”

She heard his thoughts, or perhaps she just knew. He stood, leaning his body against the tall mattress, not quite answering her initial question. Not at first.

He took her hand, kissed the palm. Dropping it as if singed. His conscience panged.

He spoke reluctantly, not wanting to break the spell that wove over them. “Thing are about to become volatile in this kingdom. And I’m selfish enough to want to keep you away from it all.”

“What do you mean?” A whisper. Her question irritated him with the lack of caution. Of the want of her soul.

“Perhaps you should go home.” He bit out the words. His insides ached.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t grow angry or depressive. She observed him, his rigid stance, his eyes that avoided her own.

“I think you need me here.”

“I don’t need anybody.” He spat out the lie. The burning deep within his ribcage grew excruciating.

She slid off the bed, standing beside him. “Well, if it was as simple as just leaving, I would have done it long before now.” He jerked. She pulled on a robe, the same robe she had worn when she tied his arms to his bed.

“Don’t get distracted, Jareth.” Sarah moved about the room, picking up a notebook, peering inside. “I have been researching.” No nonsense.

“Oh?”

He couldn’t have cared less how she chose to spend her days, but more so if that hollowed time filled her head with impossible dreams. Dreams he could never give her. But most especially because she hadn’t been spending it with him. Instead she frequented his general’s company. The surge of jealousy made him cringe.

He trusted her, of course. It was Sarah that didn’t trust him. She was talking; he forced himself to listen.

“I think I may be able to control the power of the Labyrinth.” Said so carefully he knew she wasn’t certain of it, even herself.

“Impossible.” He dragged on his clothing. “Nothing harnesses that beast.”

She frowned. “I think I can.” He started to deny, but she continued without pause. “But I know of someone who can do better than me.” She took a deep breath, waiting for his reaction.

He said, slow. Acerbic. “What. Are you. Talking about?”

Dreams. He couldn’t give into her fantasy, her imaginings. It would cost them both, cost the kingdom. He jerked on his boots.

“Jason.” Whispered.

He scoffed, not even holding back. “I will grant that your son has come a long way, not just with his demeanor, but with his training as well. But Sarah—“

She looked at him. Stared at him. Her voice near mute as she replied.

“Your son. Jason belongs to you.”

Fuck! Fuck… The truth lay in her eyes. He started shaking, trembling with the emotion, the ire, that wouldn’t be contained. An immediate and puling rage, one he couldn't stop from its progression even if he chose.

“I wanted to tell you—“

He spat, “But you didn’t did you?”

She shook her head. “I wanted to. It just never seemed the time.”

He laughed. Bitter. Emboldened.

He paced, stalked her. Circling her still and quiet body like a viperous snake ready to strike. “You took him, didn’t you, my sweet?” For once the term held no endearment and the question, no curiosity.“You took him and ran—“

She cringed. She nodded once. Quick. “I’m sorry.”

“No. You aren’t at all sorry.” His hand reached out to grip her upper arm. Pulling her against him. She didn’t protest. Didn’t even resist the bruising of her flesh.

“You’re right. I’m not.” Her head held high, not caring how she wounded with her cruel, cruel stance.

He would break her of her ugly lies, of the twisted motivation that made her steal his own flesh. This would not go unpunished. His son—

His voice strangled as he reined himself in. She was so soft, so breakable. It would give him the greatest of pleasures to bring his own brand of cruelty back to her. His own form of retribution. But that was for another time.

He said, his voice near to collapse, “Does he know?”

She shook her head. “He just thinks…”

“What? That the man you ran to is his true father? How you must despise your life, to take it into your hands so casually.”

“I did what I had to do.”

He bit out, “Nothing warrants stealing my heir.”

Her eyes observed him, finding him lacking. “Jaren is your heir.”

He threw back his head, laughing. And not with merry amusement. “How little you comprehend, my sweet.”

That made her falter. Made her quake under his wrath.

He exhaled sharply. How dare she take what belonged to him. How he would enjoy making her pay.

He spat his disdain as he went to the door, yanking it open. “Don’t leave your rooms. You will force my retribution if you disobey.”

He locked her in, ignoring the instantaneous pounding of her fists against the wood. “Jareth! Jareth, damn you! Let me out…”

Her voice faded out as he departed her hallway, and he felt no remorse. He had to see for himself.

His son...

*****

He didn’t knock. It was his castle, and the boy still had the strain of punishment upon him. Jareth entered. Paused.

The room was a mess. Not just from lack of tidiness, but it shrieked of magic. Of power, unrestrained. A magic that stemmed from Sarah. One that stemmed from Jareth.

Furniture tipped onto its side. The bedcovers hung midair. Though it was full day outside, the window curtainless to let in the sun, the room was pitch as night.

Jareth leaned against the doorframe, casual. Even though he wanted to pull the boy into his grasp and examine him with minute detail. As if Jason hadn’t been stationed in his castle for over the past month.

“You seem to have discovered your power.”

Jason whipped around. “I’m—“

He shrugged and it all came crashing down: the covers of the bed, the furniture knocked about. The room, thankfully, came back to full light, otherwise Jareth would have had to test the mettle of his own magic against Jason’s. And if what Sarah said was correct, the boy was very, very strong.

Jason snickered with embarrassment. “I wanted to experiment. Are you angry?”

“Not at you,” said so smooth that it took a moment for Jason to understand the implication. Jareth asked, blunt, “How long have you been able to hone into this skill?”

Jason debated before answering. “I think I’ve always had a bit of it, even when very small.”

“Explain.”

“It was like a presence, always there. Not getting caught when I did something wrong, as if no one even saw me do it.” He mused, shrugging. “A ward, maybe.” He continued. “But it wasn’t until I got here that things really changed.”

Jareth moved into the small bedroom. His eyes looked around at the devastation left in Jason’s wake. “You’ve practiced a bit, I take it?”

Jason blushed. “I broke some things. Sorry about—“

“Don’t apologize,” Jareth snapped, harsher than he intended. “You have to practice to make your powers thrive.” He paused. “I suppose your mother talked with you?”

Jason nodded. Wary.

“What did she tell you?” Careful. Revealing nothing.

“That my abilities were natural. Not to be afraid of them. And to keep them secret.”

Jareth crossed his arms, his anger intensifying at Sarah. “Anything else?”

Hesitation. “She said I was your—“ Jason stopped, hedging. Looking as guilty and as awkward as hell.

“Say it!” Jareth bit out the command. “Say the words.”

Soft. “That I’m your son.”

Jareth relaxed. Still predatory. He nodded. “You are.” Triumphant.

Jason’s brow furrowed, his eyes flickering. Jareth’s eyes. Jason’s frown deepened. “Don’t take it out on her. Mom did what she thought best.”

“You defend her even though your mother stole you from me.”

“I am not a prize to be stolen.” Full of temper.

Jareth laughed, though not with merriment. He stalked further into the room. He changed the subject, placating the boy. “Show me your magic.”

Jason hesitated. “I’m not very good. And I’m not sure I can do it on a whim.” His voice still tinged with anger.

Jareth ignored the sarcasm. “Target it, then. Crawl into the recess of your mind and pull it out.” He pulled up a chair and sat. “Now. Show me.”

*****

Chapter Twenty Five

Six days.

Six days of wandering her room, her only company Amr, who brought her meals on a tray. She tried to wrangle him into conversation, but he only shook his head with sad regret, handing her the food. Departing, and locking the door again, causing her to scream and scream, cursing Jareth and to cry with frustration.

She tried, and failed, to seek her magic. The power eluded her. She felt the tug under her flesh, the presence of something, but she couldn’t tap into it. Damn Jareth! She was not chattel to be kept under lock and key, but for the moment it seemed, prisoner was all she would be.

She looked at the clock on the mantle of her fireplace. Almost time for her noon meal. Once more she would try to connive the general into either letting her out, or at least talking with her a bit.

He didn’t look her in the eye when he opened her door, a double knock his only warning he stood outside. He tried to leave after placing her meal on the table beside the entrance, but Sarah reached out and grabbed his wrist. Not letting go.

“Please. Amr.” She peered up at him. He had over a head and a half of height over her.“Don’t go,” she said. “Please, if you are my friend—” Her tone purposefully coy. Feminine and soft and imploring. He bent his body down slightly, his face nearing hers, before he jerked to his full height once more.

“I am,” he answered quickly. He tried to back out of the door.

She tried to drag him in, knowing what an impossibility it would be to get him to budge if he refused. He didn’t refuse. He let her lead him into her small sitting area, his eyes darting around. Still not looking at her.

“I shouldn’t—” he said, bracing his body against the sofa. He sighed, sat down. “Sarah—” It was the first time he had said her given name.

She cut in, her voice pleading. “Just a little while. Stay, please.”

She hadn’t begged so much in years. But captivity had that result on her; she hated being alone for more than a day or two at a time. Jareth had made her stay in her rooms for nearly a week.

“I can’t interfere with the king’s decisions.”

She frowned. “Did he tell you not to speak with me?”

He hesitated. “Not precisely.”

She brightened. “Then you’re doing nothing wrong.”

“Jareth won’t like it if he catches me in here.” He added, “Alone with his queen.”

She folded her arms about her. “I am not his possession.”

He didn’t refuse her statement. Sarah battled; she wanted Amr to tell her all that was wrong. She also knew Jareth’s anger. He wouldn’t be pleased she tried to coerce information from his general. Then she decided she didn’t care.

“What is going on? Why have I been placed here so long?” Daring him to expose.

Amr faced her. “You denied the king his son. I warned—”

She crossed her arms. “Jareth can be a real bastard when he chooses, but he would never choose to hurt me.” She knew it to be accurate. Even in her rage-filled mind, she knew her husband. And while he loved to torment, he never tormented without cause.

“No.” He hesitated.

She pressed. “My being here isn’t just about Jason, is it?”

Silence. He debated. “No.”

“Then—”

Amr shook his head. “It is up to the king to inform you.”

“Is it my son?”

Pause. “In some part.”

Sarah growled. “I don’t want Jason to be exposed to—”

He straightened. “He is being trained. That is all.”

She backed away. “I don’t want—”

Amr snapped at her. “It is not your decision.” His folded arms brooked no further remarks.

She nodded. Her battles could be waged. Carefully. She changed the subject, still willing to rile him. Knowledge meant power, and she had so little of it in her reservoir.

She saw his brows furrow at her acquiescence, as if knowing she played him but having no proof. She continued, her eyes calm. A tad conniving. “I am trying to practice my powers. Nothing is happening.”

He stood, towering over her. “You are drawing on the Labyrinth?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

“Where do you feel it?”

Her eyes darted up to his. “I feel a tug in my side—”

He shook his head. “No. That’s not your power.”

Sarah tilted her head in confusion. He fought a grimace. “That’s what you have of your bond with the king.”

“You make it sound…incomplete.” And hideous.

He nodded. “It is.”

She sat, not understanding. About to ask him why, when the door flung open. Jareth entered, the air chilled. Jareth’s mood, evident. And he growled, as if he knew her not to be by herself, his temper justified. He glared at Amr. Glared even more at Sarah. She glowered at him, not budging in her defiant stance.

“Well,” she said. “Have you come to see your handiwork?”

Jareth snapped at her. “Jason wants to speak with you.” So, no forgiveness. She fought not to flinch.

He held open the door, Amr walking through first. Jareth paused him and hissed something in his ear. The general flushed, and continued out the door, not looking back.

“He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Jareth paused. “No. But were you?” Baiting. Defying her to deny it.

Sarah leered. “Why? Jealous?”

He took her calmly by the arm. “If you give me cause to be.”

It wasn’t worth it to rile him. She was being let out, and she let that cool her temper. “You needn’t worry. I have better things to do than seduce Amr.”

Jareth grunted. “I wonder how you convinced him to enter your rooms in the first place.”

She smirked. “It’s my pretty face.”

He clenched his jaw. His hand, however, remained gentle as he gripped her. “Come. Our son requests an audience.”

Our son. She hated that she told him. Maybe if she had just kept quiet, she would still have her freedom.

He walked her through the corridors. Quiet. Pensive. She dared to look up at him. His jaw had the tightness of a man not used to being challenged. Sarah bit back a grin.

“How is he?” she asked.

Jareth gave a small smile. “He has come into his power. It’s a magnificent thing.”

She paused, startled. “I never thought—”

He looked at her, bland. “Didn’t you believe that a child of ours would have the magic of us both?”

She shook her head. “I have no magic.” Sarah grimaced, “And I wish that Jason never had to find his.”

“Why?” A growl.

She said, soft, “Because when we return to our world, he will only have pain for it.”

“Neither of you are returning, Sarah.” It was not the caustic remark she expected.Instead his words held pity. Remorse. Pain.

“Why would you say that?”

“You have no world to return to.”

She snapped at him. “What? Like the Above is destroyed?” Clearly not believing him, her tone bitingly sarcastic.

“Of course not. But you, in that world, are no more.” He strode forward, pulling her with him, her mouth agape. “And neither is Jason.”

She let him pull her. She found it hard to breathe. She panted, not from exertion, but from an impending horror.

“What do you mean, Jareth?” He didn’t answer. She asked again, then yanked him to a stop. “Jareth. Tell me.”

Her jaw squared.He turned to face her, his face at turns triumphant and full of sorrow.

“Do you wonder why it is you can’t tap into that powerful magic of yours?”

She shook her head. “I thought I just had to teach myself, that I had to learn—”

He took her into a loose embrace, and her fear didn’t make her fight it. “No, my sweet.” His voice gentled. “Your body is hovering… life versus death, in your world. And Jason…” He paused, his voice giving way. “He has no life there at all, anymore.”

She trembled. “Explain. Please.”

Instead he said, “When you returned, it wasn’t of your own will.” Not answering her question. Giving explanation that made her fume with impatience; he said much. But said nothing at all.

She opened her mouth to deny. He shook his head. “No, Sarah. You were summoned. And somehow your spirit and mind are here, where you are safe. Your body is…” He stilled. “It is near dead.”

“How?”

“Your body rests within a coma.” Carefully nonchalant.

She let him run his fingers along her arm. Comforting. Possessive. Giving her more reason to doubt him.

“I feel real enough.” She squirmed, not wanting to believe.

“You are real. In this world, you have completeness.” He added, “You were meant to be here.”

Sarah would beg to differ. But she said nothing.

He peered at her, his eyes careful as they watched her. Her lips trembled as much as her body quaked. He gathered her into his arms, and she let him.

“What happened to Jason?” she whispered.

His answer chilled. “His jailers found him dead. He let go, and gave up to this world. He wished to be here.”

Sarah pulled away, uncertain and scared. “That’s impossible.”

Jareth shrugged. “Why lie when I have you both here?”

“Did you make it happen?” Hushed. Panic in her voice.

He gave a light sneer. “Of course not. If I could have, I would have done it long before.”

She gave thought to his words. “Jason brought us here.” She knew, even before he acknowledged. He nodded.

“I don’t understand how he even knew the Underground existed.”

Jareth laughed. “I believe he found a book.” His eyes beaded with anticipation. A retribution for the waiting he had for her to return to him. “And your delightful stories. He always believed I was real.”

She hissed with dismay. “No—” Her fault. Her fault…

He finished, broadly pleased with her reaction. “He found it in a not so secret hiding spot when young and it found him again when he was of age. Sarah,” he said, trying to sway. “I tell you true. Your life was always meant to be lived here.” His eyes darkened. “With me.”

Her brow furrowed, and she said, “What about—” She coughed delicately. “My dress?”

Jareth laughed, bitter at the remembrance. At the pleasure that dress had caused. She read his face. Torment was all over it. “That, my sweet, is all on you.”

“I didn’t—”

“No. But the entity that calls itself the Labyrinth, did.” His snarl made her realize he spoke the truth, even as he elaborated further. “You are connected with the very monster that seeks to destroy. I gifted you, you might say, so very long ago.”

She blushed. “After I won.” She tried to absorb, to take in all that he said. His tone bordered on frenzy, as if time would barter her back. Away from him.

He flinched. “You should know that you were chosen to win. No one beats the Labyrinth.”

Amr had told her the same thing. She nodded, letting him take her arm again. They continued walking in silence.

She felt like a spell had been cast over her, a reckoning that perhaps she had always been meant for Jareth. That maybe their bond hadn’t been a mistake. That all she had grown to know had been all for coming back to him. She flushed, even as she walked silently. Jareth turned to her again, his voice quiet.

“Is it so bad, being a part of me?”

She startled. “I don’t know.” Part of him… She craved it even as she hated it. She hadn’t worked her entire life for independence just to give it up to him. But maybe he was as caught as her. To be bound. To tangle.

Jareth stopped and turned, watching her. “Sarah—” He sighed, a painful gasping sound. “I wish…”

She found her heart beating faster. He never gave in to his own wishes. He granted them. “What, Jareth?”

He whispered. “There is so much still for you to learn. And time is short.” He led her the remaining way, his face deep in thought. “I hope you will let what is to come not frighten you.”

She tipped her head in question. He shook his head, replying, “No. You aren’t ready.”

Sarah didn’t debate. His fear radiated from him; a warrior that never backed down, except when it came to her. Maybe…maybe he did care. He left her in front of Jason’s quarters, giving her palm a lingering kiss. Bowing. Then departing.

*****

Chapter Twenty Six

Sarah raised her hand to knock; Jason opened the door as her fingers met the wood of the heavy framed side. She startled. Before her stood a man, one that hadn’t been there even the month previous. Jason had gained muscle, and his face had a sudden maturity that she knew had to do with his training. He wasn’t her spoiled, selfish boy any longer. He smiled.

“Mom. Come in.” He swung the door open wide.

“You wanted to speak with me.” Doubt clouded her voice.

She stepped in, hesitant, looking around at the changed room. Many layered carpets in rich wool lay on the stone floor. Art, probably priceless, hung on the walls. Furniture of teak and mahogany spread out in the space. It was luxurious, masculine, and bespoke of Jareth’s approval of him.

He nodded, his face proud, though his brows narrowed with worry. “Yes. But first, I want to know how you are. I heard you were…” He slid a hand behind his neck, rubbing at the skin there. “Jareth said you had warranted punishment. Nothing too bad, I hope?”

His words were carefully executed. He acquiesced about her imprisonment. Though as her son, his shame of it overrode. Yes, he had changed. Once pliable, he had become strong; Jareth’s kind of strong. She wasn’t completely sure she approved.

She shook her head. “No. Nothing too bad.” Just enough to make her fury and scream. But she would never reveal that, reveal how weak she felt when no one came to let her out.

He pulled a chair up near. “Come, Mom. Sit down.”

His politeness stunned her. It hadn’t been too long ago that he had used his strength and height against her, backing her against the wall. He seemed a different child.

He didn’t procrastinate in what he chose to say. He cleared his throat. “I have something to tell you. Something vital to me.”

She fought a smile. So formal. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands braced between his spread knees. His stance casual, though his words were not.

He looked her in the eye. “Linia and and I are going to move in together. We’ll stay here in the castle for the time being.” He didn’t ask. He told.

“Jason, you’re only twenty—”

He smiled, looking suddenly rakish. Looking so much like Jareth. “I met my bond-mate. I won’t be separated from her.” Confident, his blue eyes bright when he spoke the woman’s name. He loved her. The thought stunned.

Sarah sputtered. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” He smiled. “There’s no room to doubt it.”

“I didn’t know you believed in such a thing.”

“Don’t you?” His eyes watched hers, glinting with a touch of humor.

Sarah mused. “I don’t know.” Except when she was braced against Jareth, his body deep inside her. Except when she could hear his thoughts as her own. Except--

He reached for her hand. “Mom, I’m happy for you, when you decide that you do.” He smiled, his body rocking back gently. He gave his approval; it helped, but solved nothing. He added, “Jareth is a better male than I gave him credit for.” Giving her the leeway to concede—to agree with him. To brush aside her fears and her pains of having it be true.

She shook her head. “You don’t have to say that, just because—”

“I’m not.” His voice, sharp. “Though he is my father, in every sense.”

“You have a father.” Desmond…

He bit back, her objection making him stark in his reply. “I had a presence in my life. He wasn’t—” He stopped, composed himself, then continued. “I have my true father now.”

“Jareth would glorify in hearing that.” Her tone wry.

Jason grinned. “I have wanted to slit his throat in his bed longer than you can imagine, to kill the male that wouldn’t own up to me.” She shuddered. Jason smirked. He looked so much like him. “Did you think I never suspected?” His eyes narrowed.

She shook her head. “How could you? There was no way you could have known.”

He tried to explain, to convince. “I always knew I was different.” He frowned and she mirrored, the concept foreign to her sensibilities. “Always. But since coming here, I feel alive. Mom, I feel like I’m home.”

His words gutted her. “No.”

She trembled. She didn’t want to contemplate losing her son to Jareth, who would covet and preen and override all interactions with Jason. Just for spite. Just because he could.

Jason’s face grew dark. “Don’t even think like that. He wouldn’t.”

She startled. “What?”

“My father is honorable. He wouldn’t take me away from you.” As you took me away from him… His thoughts shot vividly out at her, though silent in reproof.

She wondered how he knew her innermost turmoil, then realized maybe her expression gave it away. Or perhaps Jason was more powerful than she could have imagined.

“Jason,” she said, her voice soft. “You don’t know him like you think you do.”

“I know he loves you.” His brow tipped up, a dark replica of Jareth’s. His words pained. If he believed that, he was already lost to her.

She shook her head. “No. He doesn’t.”

“Do you love him?” Hopeful. Stubbornly trying to draw her out.

She thought of how Amr had asked that same question. “I don’t know.”

He jumped up, pacing the room. “I wish you would—”

She knew how dangerous his wishes could be. Enough to drive her back to her haunting. Enough to steal him away from death. She shivered. “Don’t. I will make my own choice with this.”

His face grew abashed. “I’m sorry. I just—”

Sarah held up her hand. “I know. It would make everything easier. I just have to know if it’s right for me.”

“Mom…don’t you feel it, tugging at you? The soul-binding? It hurts, at least until it’s complete. Why fight it?”

She rubbed at her side. It did hurt. The problem was, she didn’t know how to complete it, or if she even wanted to.

Sarah drew back to the matter at hand, bracing herself against his perception. “I like Linia. I’m happy for you, Jason.”

He grinned. “I thought you’d fight me more on this one, Mom.”

She sighed. “It wouldn’t have mattered even if I did. We are in a different world now, with different rules. I can’t say I comprehend this soul-bond, but I accept that you do.”

Jason kept her for a while, talking, showing her his weapons and trophies. She pulled open the door to leave when darkness hinted in the air.

He paused her by the exit. “Mom, what do you know of the Prophecy?” His head cocked to the side, studying her. He knew, perhaps? Or he was just being coy…

She stopped. Her hand almost pulled to her throat in reaction to his carefully nonchalant question. “I read something about it in one of the old manuscripts. Why?”

He shrugged. “Lin keeps talking of it.”

Sarah already knew the words by heart. She mouthed them, her jaw tight, as he spoke them aloud.

“Mortal and Immortal will rise to carry the kingdom. To make peace, where there is no peace. A child will rise. A child will fall. Grace comes to the winner of the Illuminated prize.” His voice touched with awe. “It’s pretty cool, right?”

She hesitated. “What do you think it means?”

He tucked his chin down in thought. “The general seems to think it speaks of you, Mom.”

“Me?” Yes. She knew that’s what he believed. It was why he wanted her to read that book, to see her future displayed like a ware on a market street.

He nodded. “Yeah. And I think Jareth thinks so, too.” That, stunned.

She said, slowly, “Because of my run in the Labyrinth.”

“Yep.” He opened the door wider, hanging on the edge of it. “Don’t let it bother you. I’ve found this place has all kinds of weird stuff going on.”

She fought to smile. For a moment, Jason sounded his old self. “Yes, I know.”

They hugged, his arms tight about her. “Be brave, Mom. You are meant for this world, too.”

She paused, unable to breathe. He believed. Once she had believed, too. “Have a good evening, my son.” Formal, as he had been. She had to let him go, and the feeling alternately made her so proud of him, and so very sad.

He smiled, that half-quirk of his upper lip that had made all the girls in her world want him. Like his father’s. She turned to leave, a caught sniffle in her throat.

He shut the door behind her. Jareth was already waiting out in the hallway. To return her back to her imprisonment. Back to her suite of shame.

He uncrossed his arms. “Pleasant stay, my queen?”

She moved past him. “Yes.”

“You are angry.”

She stopped. “No. I’m sad.”

He reached for her, to comfort. A strange reaction from him that made her pull back with faint alarm. She shook her head; she couldn’t bear it, his solicitude.

“Not here, Jareth.”

His eyes burned as they looked on her. “Of course. I differ to you.” He took her arm, his grip held tight.

“Let’s walk.” He commanded, his tone gentle.

They rounded the corner before he spoke. “Sarah,” he hesitated. “I may have been hasty with my rage.”

She glared, though it was more from practice than want to hurt. “You locked me in my rooms. For a week, Jareth.”

He flinched. “Yes. I thought it best to keep you away from me.”

“I would have stayed away gladly if you’d only asked.”

He turned to face her, his fingers lightly stroking her skin. “I miss you, Sarah.”

His sincerity reached her. She sighed. “How long must we do this?”

His head tipped in question. She explained. “We fight. Make up, fight again. It’s exhausting.”

“It is our way.”

“You mean the way of Immortals.” For once her tone held no condemnation. To fight weakened her, and she needed all her strength to survive.

He grinned. “Yes. I willingly would have you join us.”

Jareth had never mentioned the possibility to her before. Her eyes flicked with wary. “How?”

“It is a simple matter. You simply have to accept your station, my sweet.” His eyes were tired. He felt it too, the constant pull and push of their interactions. An unnecessary strain.

“That is no answer.” Tart, without meaning to be.

“It’s true. Our son gave in without alarm.”

“What did you have him do?” A wisp of panic set in, dissipated. He would no sooner hurt Jason than he would hurt…her. The thought stunned.

Jareth spread his palms. “Nothing. You are keen to attribute such horrors to me. Jason wanted his soul-bond complete. There is no question what he chose.”

She gasped, comprehension sneaking in. He continued, “You have long played coy, and I didn’t want to take you before you were ready.” He stroked her cheek. “You were so young when you arrived. Think of all the years you would have missed, not knowing death could reach out and touch you at any given moment.”

“I left. That’s how you weren’t able to get your Immortal hooks into me.”

He laughed, but it held no humor. “I have tried many times since you have returned, my sweet. How you resist me.”

Her eyes flooded with tears. “I hurt, Jareth. I hurt all the time.”

A revelation. But perhaps one he expected. He leaned over and tenderly kissed her cheek. “I know, my sweet. I know.”

He took her hand, fingers intertwined. She held on. She held on like he was her lifeline.

And maybe…he was.

******

Chapter Twenty Seven

They walked slowly back to Sarah’s rooms, fingers still joined. Saying nothing, the quiet surrounding them like chipped ice. Cold and unrelenting.

Jareth stopped before her door. “Sarah…” He turned to face her. “Are you so very unhappy here?”

She remained silent. His teeth ground together, his jaw clicking with the ferocity of his growl. He didn’t wish to acknowledge his defeat; she didn’t want to acquiesce to his whim. “I want you to return to my rooms.” Demanding, as always.

Sarah remained mute, a black hole of rectitude. Jareth spat out with heady frustration, “I cannot sleep. You belong with me.”

With coolness she answered. “I am happier alone.”

“Are you now?” Like a panther ready to slaughter, his voice held promise. With the back of his hand he stroked along her side, meeting her breast. Cupping the soft flesh. Her nipples perked and he grinned with triumph.

Sarah sucked in a deep breath, then pulled away. “My body reacts to you. Nothing more.”

He hissed. “You care. Tell me you care.”

“I care to be left alone.”

Jareth smacked open her door, his hand braced against the frame. “I left you alone. You hated it. Make up your mind, Sarah. Stay with me or rue your decision.”

She looked away, not able to face him. Yes, she wanted to be with him. But he had never extended apology for his behavior. And for that, she couldn’t trust him.

He flinched back. “So. That is your reasoning.” He read her heart, read her thoughts, pulsing and erratic. He curled his fingers around her wrist, his pride and his want of ownership on display. “I have apologized with every deed I extend to you.” She met his eyes, bracing for his onslaught. He bit out caustic words. “Each and every time I touch you, I beg your forgiveness. Each and every time I deny my needs for you, I beg for your forgiveness—” Like a whip he slung each sentence, meeting her turmoil and beating at it. He spat viciously, “Every time I keep you from the death my kingdom demands—” He slumped, his last excuse tearing at them both. “Sarah…if you only knew what I give up to keep you safe and with me.”

She said, soft, “I don’t want you to give up anything for me. I am able to take care of myself.”

He jerked at that. “Maybe, once.” He contemplated. “In your world, yes. But you are here, untrained and defenseless.”

“Train me, then, as you have Jason.” Her chin tipped up in a rebellious taunt.

He shook his head, weary. “I cannot. No one harnesses the Labyrinth. You have powers that I cannot contain.” He added, his voice full of dismay, “That you cannot even begin to control. Not in your present state.”

She focused on only one part of his explanation. “I don’t want to be contained.” Sharp.

Jareth narrowed his eyes, even as they flickered with agitated worry. “Once your magic is let loose, my sweet, I fear for your life. You don’t have the strength to deny all that the Labyrinth is.” He didn’t lie, not with his fear. Not with her abilities, untapped.

Her eyes darted away from his intense stare. “What can I do, then?”

He smiled, a tired baring of teeth, bracing himself against the wood frame. Like all energy sapped from him. “As long as you bear the brand of mortality, my sweet, you will die at the Labyrinth’s hand.” He added, his face gone white. “Or at the hand of my enemies.”

She said, flippant. “So make me one of you. Just do it, then.”

He snarled. “If I could, I would have. Do you not listen?” He dragged her flush against him. “I cannot destroy that which you hold dear. I cannot take that which you nestle to your soul.” His eyes pierced hers. “You have to give it to me willingly. And that,” he said, tired, “You refuse to succumb.”

“I don’t want to give up my identity, Jareth. Yet you are determined to make me your slave.”

He scoffed, his head snapping up to meet her eyes. “It is I who is your slave.”

“And you hate me for it.”

His voice came out harsh and sibilant. “Yes! I hate that you still have mastery over me. I will go into the Great Sleep knowing that all has been in vain, all that I gave to you, you denied.”

“Your jealousy is unbecoming for a king.” She said it so soft, so viciously, that he nearly buckled.

His laugh had no mirth. “Jealous? Are we not two halves of the same whole? Do you not feel my heart as it beats, my mind as it thinks, my utter and complete devastation as you take everything I have and throw it back at me?”

Sarah couldn’t answer. She debated going into her room, shutting the door and shutting out his words against her. But she didn’t.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jareth.”

“You hurt me more than you know, my sweet. Each and every day I depart from the path that is my life, ready to give up and give in. I will not live unless I have you!”

“You are Immortal.” Her vicissitude lunging at him, a blandness that she bought with deliberate price.

“I am. I also belong to you, wholly and sincerely. And you—” he hissed, “Belong to me!”

He pulled her flush against him, his mouth at hers. A tangling of tongue and teeth. A devouring and a branding. She tasted the sickly sweet allure of blood between her lips. He scraped her with sharp canines. The pain was pleasurable. The pain reminded her that he always intended to win.

She ran her hands up between them. And…pushed.

Jareth groaned, his eyes alight. His breath staccato. “What is your answer, my sweet?”

Sarah paused. “I will think it over.” Coyly taunting.

He glared. “Think it over.” His tone barren of expression. He let her by him, into her rooms. His voice echoed soft as she shut the door on him. “And I will wait, as I always have… My precious thing!”

*****

Sarah cried herself to sleep that night. In the midst of her tears, she felt Jareth’s taunt. Return to me…and I will give you anything you want…

Then, silence. A void of nothing.

In the morning, her eyes blurry and red, she opened the door to find Amr standing outside. His face, grave. She let him in after a brief pause.

“What is it, Amr? What is wrong?”

His voice gathered a choke. “Jaren…”

She quivered. Bad news--

“What of him?” She strove for calm.

“The Labyrinth has taken him.”

Sarah brought her hand to her mouth. “I don’t…understand.” She did, though. She did…

The general sighed, each breath sounding like a weight. His words struggled with tangible explanation. “He had the king’s blood. He had part of the Labyrinth inside him.” Amr paused, letting that sink in before he continued. “The Labyrinth feasts on its own. It takes without qualm.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

He softened at her outcry. “Because the boy hadn’t the strength to fend it off. He has always been small and weak…” The general didn’t finish. His eyes focused on the stone floor.

“He’s…dead.” Amr nodded. A keening cry came from her lips. “I must go to Jareth.” It explained the shocking quiet that overrode her mind. Jareth mourned, and she had to comfort him.

Amr shook his head. “No. He doesn’t want to see you.” A snap of expletive at her fallen face.

Sarah paused. “But…he’s my husband.”

“He wants to see no one.” A mercy of statement, spoken as if she would crack and break. Sarah knew Jareth hadn’t been as kind in his refusal.

“I am his wife!” She knew it meant nothing. She had been no wife to the king; she played at being a figurehead. She hadn’t been his queen. It was all her fault Jareth turned her away.

“I understand your need—”

“You understand?” Sarah tried to get past him, but his bulk stayed her motions. He reached out and stroked an errant strand of her hair back from her flushed face.

“Sarah. Leave Jareth in peace. Let him have this time. Please.”

She stammered. “I just…I wish…why did he have to die? That poor, poor, sweet little boy.” A wave of tears burst from her, tears she thought had all expelled the previous night. She fell to her knees, her hands covering her face. “Oh…my king, my king. He feels such pain.” She knew it to her core. She knew it because it was all she could feel. Jaren had touched so many with his sweet disposition. Gone, gone… Her cries pounded her with intensity.

Amr gathered her without pause into his strong arms, cradling her. He covered the length of the room, going into her bedchamber and resting her on the mattress. His hand covered her own, and she held tight to him. To his strength, to the friendship he had freely given.

He looked down at her, and her chin quivered. “Amr…”

He paused. Then he leaned down, kissing the corner of her lips. Once. Twice. So soft she had to keep her eyes upon him to know he even touched her.

Sarah peered up at him, her feelings in conflict. No, no, no. It was all wrong… And yet, the general had given his kindness. Given it when her own husband had been so cruel. Without further abashment, she reached her arms up, up about his neck. She drew him down. Down to her body and down to her mouth.

She had to feel something besides horror. She had to feel something besides wanton want. She and Jareth were combustion ignited. Amr was the water that extinguished. She had to be…

He paused, as if stunned. Then his lips took hers with hurried and reckless abandonment. She felt a gasp come to her. He took that moment of surprise to kiss deeper. His body rested on her own, muscled steel against pliable softness. He felt good; he felt wrong. But she didn’t pull back or push him away. Her pain was his pain. She took as he gave. And her tears continued to fall. And fall. And fall--

She felt cold touch down. Shadow where there had been light. The air shattered with static. Jareth—

“Get your hands. Off. My. Wife.”

Amr stepped back, the heady warmth of his mouth leaving hers. She sat up, her eyes daring. Daring and flaunting, even as she shook in fear.

Jareth laughed. A cold, capricious laugh. His eyes beckoned gloom. His eyes promised death.

The king rounded the general, his hand out to brace the male upon the wall. Not touching at all. His force empowering, overriding any control Amr had over his own. Amr shook; his body tight and his eyes bulging. Jareth was crushing him, merciless, from the inside out.

“Jareth, stop.” Sarah came to her feet. Her hand outstretched to her husband.

He glared at her. His laugh continued, a cackling marionette with severed strings. She had played him, played them both; her snide retribution making her lose the game she had never known how to win. She realized her folly too late; she didn’t want to forego Jareth. He meant something to her, after all.

Jareth’s anger superseded any feeling he had for her; she knew it even as it dismayed her. She taunted the wrong male. She taunted when she had no reason of gain.

Amr’s ears began to trickle with blood. The castle began to shake, the walls shimmering and quaking with the king’s fury. Stone fell to the floor, hit her on the shoulder. She felt it bruise her forehead. Still Jareth gave little compulsion to halt his wrath, even as she caved under it.

“Did you think I would not know?” the king said to his general, sibilant. “Did you think you could lay one finger on her and I would not realize?”

“Jareth!” Sarah came to him, grabbed his arm. He shook her off, violent and dismissive. She came back, latching on again. “I did it. It wasn’t him. It was me!”

He disregarded her plea. Amr shook, along with the rumble of the veritable stone that pelted them all, shadows enveloping him.

Jareth, in his fit of pique, brought Sarah into his arms, kissing her so that she bled. Kissing her with ownership. With a desire of power. She gasped, wiping her hand across her lips, wiping the blood into a smear.

He kissed her. Then he tossed her away.

She made to come at him again. He held out a palm to her. “Stop.”

She froze, her limbs in limbo. Unable to move.

Jareth sidled up to his prey. Amr’s eyes held no fright, just resignation. Jareth whispered into the general’s ear, a sound so harsh that Sarah heard it pound within her brain.

“My wife…she is delicious, isn’t she? A veritable prize.” Jareth came before Sarah again, licking her mouth until she parted her lips. He kissed her, inhaling her fear. Inhaling as if he couldn’t dive deep enough into her soul. He sneered at Amr. “You have always craved mortals. Your Tamar…” Jareth clucked his tongue with disapproval. “How good they taste, do they not? Like life. Like the richness of blood that flows deep inside them.”

Sarah struggled to speak. But her voice had been stolen, even as her limbs fought helplessly against her king. She couldn’t move. She was prisoner as much as the man bound against the cold stone. Her friend…

Her eyes plead. Jareth stepped away, a dance of the macabre within his flesh.

He hissed, spitting flame and shadow, his eyes black. “I would rather have her death than have you touch what is mine!”

Jareth cocked his head to the side, watching the agonizing removal of his general’s life force. Immortal, yet able to die. He moved before Sarah. Her eyes darted up to his. Begging. He narrowed his gaze.

“Would you like that, my sweet? The release of me? To go back to your precious world, not knowing whether you will live or die?”

She couldn’t answer. He spat at her, “Speak, my queen. Answer me!”

Sarah stammered. “No…no. I don’t want to leave.”

“No? How very strange. Now, when I would release you…”

He touched her lips with a forefinger. Gentle. Even as his eyes loathed her. “I gave you everything. Power, life, a rule by my side. You don’t forgive. And I won’t forget.”

“You don’t love me, Jareth. You only love yourself—” Her bravery thrilled in falsetto, her voice pitched like helium in a flailing balloon. “If you had…if you only had—”

“I have loved you more than I loved anything!”

The words stunned, a pulsing between them. She sucked in breath. He sneered, as if he hadn’t revealed his innards to her.

“You have hate in your heart. I feel it,” she said, her voice quivering. “You don’t love anyone.”

He turned away from her. “Not now.” His voice rang final.

Tears blurred her stare. He had loved her… And she had loved him. Too late. Too late…

“What are you going to do, Jareth?” Hushed. Expectant.

Amr slumped as Jareth released him. The general was alive, but he did not stand.

He turned back to her, his voice eerily calm. “War is coming. You are not safe in my kingdom, as a mortal unturned.” His voice sunk into deepest dark. “You are not safe from the Labyrinth. I know that now.”

Jaren… Sarah nodded, wary. He continued. “I am sending you back.” Calm. Removed.

“No!” It burst from her, and the response made him smile. He had not a hint of sorry in him.

He explained, his tone bored. “You won’t remember your life here. It will be as a dream—”

“Jareth! Please…” She made to grab him and he avoided her with ease.

“You will live, perhaps. Or you will die.” He smirked. “I care not.”

His eyes flashed. She sunk deep within herself, to the core of her soul. Listening…listening for any hint of remorse in him. He tugged at her insides, even as he drew physically away.

Sarah…Sarah, my love…

She heard him. And she would not let go.

“No.” She demanded. She plead. She coerced. “I won’t let you do this.”

“Oh, but my sweet…” He leaned down to kiss her. Tenderly. A kiss of goodbye. “You have no choice.”

She felt the air flail around her, sinking in and deepening like a funnel, a chimera. An inhale of time and remembrance. Cold. So very cold…

Shadow and brim. Light and pain. Her arms tight by her side. Tied down. Weighed down--

Beep. Beep. Beep…

Her father’s voice, coming from the distance. “Sarah…” A cry. Toby. “You’re awake!”

Noooooo!

All faded. Jareth. Amr. All of the Underground… Gone.

She opened her eyes. “Dad?”

*****


End file.
